If I Knew You Then: Part 3
by Ruchira
Summary: AU, follows the first two parts of If I Knew You Then. A decision she never thought she would make causes B'Elanna Torres' life to go a direction she never thought it would.
1. Chapter 1

**If I Knew You Then: Part 3**

_Disclaimer: I still don't anything even remotely related to Star Trek. If I did, the new ST movie wouldn't be a prequel to the original series. Sorry, I just think it's a weird idea. But that really doesn't have anything to do with anything..._

_Summary: This is Part 3 in the series that began with (not unexpectedly) If I Knew You Then: Part 1. It's AU, based on the question of, what would have happened if Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres met while Academy cadets? If you haven't done so already, I recommend you read the first two parts before attempting this one. I don't know how much sense it would make without doing so. _

_Anyway, this installment is a little bit different than the first two. For one, it takes place over a couple of years, instead of the one part per year I had set up in Part 1. Also, it's quite a bit more edgy and angsty than the previous stories, and may not seem like much of a P/T story. I hope you still enjoy it, though. It was actually my favorite of the three to write, and I hope you see why as the story develops._

_And without further ado..._

* * *

Starfleet Academy Cadet Second Class B'Elanna Torres tugged slightly at the bottom of her uniform jacket to straighten it as she scanned the crowd in the small park, acutely aware of the heavy duffle bag she had slung over her right shoulder. _Where is she?_ she wondered in no small amount of displeasure. It didn't help that she was scanning for one Klingon face amidst a sea of Klingon faces. Perhaps because she had never spent much time around groups of Klingons, she had a hard time picking one out of crowd; after awhile, all of the tall, solidly-built, dark-haired people with stern expressions on their ridged faces began to look alike.

She was still scanning the crowd when she noticed a little girl point at her, and distinctly heard a small voice address her mother and ask, "Mother, what happened to her ridges?"

She cringed, but gave no other indication of having heard the girl's words as her eyes continued to slowly move through the sea of people waiting to pick up somebody from the transport from Earth. _Damned universal translator_, she silently swore, wishing that the Klingon girl's words could have gone by without her knowing what was said. She briefly toyed with the idea of turning it off to avoid hearing such comments, but knew that with her limited vocabulary of Klingon words, that would probably be a bad idea, in case anybody decided to say anything to her. Besides, she knew most of the Klingon words for "mongrel", "half-breed", and similar insults given to those whose blood was colored slightly differently than the rest of them.

Finally, she saw who she was looking for and took a few, slightly tentative steps in her direction, stopping about a meter away. "Mother," she said softly.

Miral hadn't seen her daughter approach, and turned swiftly at the sound of her voice. For a second, both women studied the other without saying anything. Although they had written to each regularly over the last year, this was the first time in almost two years that they had stood face-to-face, and neither had pleasant memories of that last time.

B'Elanna didn't know how to explain the new light she saw her mother in. It wasn't that Miral seemed older, necessarily, or otherwise physically different. The look in her eyes had very little more understanding than the look she carried with her two years before, but something was different. Finally, she just chalked it up to changes in herself—in the two years since she had last seen her mother, she had changed from an angry seventeen-year-old just trying to get away from home to a slightly wary and exhausted Starfleet cadet just trying to get away from the Academy.

"'Lanna," her mother finally said, nodding slightly at her daughter. B'Elanna caught the look of disapproval in her mother's eyes as she scanned the crisp lines of the cadet's Starfleet uniform, and had to fight to keep the sarcastic comment that rose in her throat from coming out. Whatever her mother may think of her daughter's attire, _she_ wasn't the one who had to go through inspection upon arrival at Qo'noS, and if there was one thing to make the process move more smoothly, it was a uniform and an official letter of educational agreement between the superintendents of two of the best known universities around.

"Well," Miral finally said, rolling back her shoulders and straightening to her full height, nearly a head taller than her half-human daughter. "I will take you to the Institute and show you to the dormitories and give you a tour, and then you should change into something…more appropriate before dinner," she said, glancing again at the uniform her daughter wore. _You mean something less Starfleet_, B'Elanna filled in, her internal tone slightly mocking. "Your grandfather and uncles have traveled down from Qa'gaH province to feast with us tonight."

B'Elanna managed to avoid an audible groan, but just barely. She had met her grandfather T'Krol, the head of the house that carried his name, only once before, when her mother brought her to Qo'noS for lessons in discipline and honor after her father had left. She remembered her grandfather as a stiff, unyielding, and incredibly fierce man who had no small amount of disapproval for his human former son-in-law, a disdain which he had spread to his young granddaughter.

_Great,_ B'Elanna thought as she readjusted the bag on her shoulder and followed her mother away from the crowd. _I've been on the planet for less than half an hour, and I already regret it._

---

B'Elanna pinned her Starfleet combadge to the inside of the long sleeve of the simple dress her mother had brought for her to wear, knowing that she would need the Universal Translator function in order to keep up with the conversation over dinner with her mother's family. _One of these days, I'm just going to have to buckle down and learn Klingon_, she thought with an ironic smile as she smoothed the lines of the coarse fabric. After consciously blocking out every Klingon word her mother had said to her while she was growing up, she never imagined the desire to actually learn the language would cross her mind.

She sighed heavily as she released her long hair from its tight braid and shook it out gently. For a brief moment, a small smile played across her lips as she contemplated rebraiding it, just to see how her very Klingon mother and her very Klingon family would react to seeing such a human hairstyle. _Go for broke and put the uniform back on, too_, a voice silently egged her on. She rolled her eyes as she dropped the hair, feeling the heavy curls fall over her back. Even though the bare room didn't have a mirror, she could just imagine how she must look in that dark green dress and her hair loose behind her: Klingon. It would take her awhile to get used to that not being a bad thing around here.

_Except _they_ won't look at you and think "Klingon"_. Damn that internal nagging voice. _They'll look at you and think "that part-human girl who thinks she can become Klingon." Just like at the Academy, where it's "that part-Klingon girl who thinks she can become human."_

"Enough of that," B'Elanna muttered quietly to herself as she closed the lid on the trunk containing everything she had to her name. One trunk, one mat on the floor. That was all she had anymore, all she could claim was her own. There wasn't even any space that she could call her own; her mat was just one of eight in the almost-empty room. In a few days, there would be eight female Klingon engineering students in one room. And to think, she had a hard time living with one human in a much more comfortable setting at the Academy.

Forcibly shoving any thoughts of the Academy out of her head, she latched the trunk, smoothed back her hair one last time, and left the room to find her mother waiting outside in the courtyard, for lack of a better term. Miral looked her daughter up and down, then nodded brusquely. "Good," she declared. "The dress fits. I wasn't sure it would."

B'Elanna flushed slightly in anger, knowing what her mother was saying: she wasn't built like a Klingon. Not only was she shorter than any grown Klingon she had ever met—which wasn't many, but that was beside the point—her proportions were slightly different, her build more human than it was Klingon. "Yes," she snapped. "It's fine. Let's go." She was aware she was being short with her mother, but didn't really care. It had been a long, difficult day already, and with the approaching dinner with the relatives she had met once—and hadn't liked then—she was sure it wasn't going to get any better.

---

B'Elanna didn't remember much from her time on Qo'noS when she was a child, other than the fact that she didn't like it and just wanted to go home to Kessik IV, but the restaurant that her mother led her into surprised her. It wasn't the atmosphere of the restaurant that got her attention—it seemed very in character for the Klingon homeworld, poorly lit and filled with loud Klingons occupying dark wood tables and benches—somehow, it was the restaurant itself. _It's not all caves and monasteries_, she scolded herself. For someone who grew up having Klingon culture forced down her throat, she knew surprisingly little about it.

In contrast to how different her mother seemed to her when she first arrived, T'Krol was exactly as she remembered. He was tall, even for a Klingon, with a powerful build that alone seemed to be enough to remove any doubt as to his position at the head of his House. He wasn't as dark as most Terrans think of Klingons—natives of the northern province of Qa'gaH were fairer than most, although not nearly as fair as Terran northerners. He had a strong forehead marked by ridges that formed a deep V that pointed down toward his nose, thick hair that was more gray than black, and sharp light brown eyes that didn't seem to miss anything around him. All in all, a very intimidating man.

Those light brown eyes were now fixed on the young woman standing in front of him, trying not to flinch under that gaze. He circled her slowly, almost as if inspecting some sort of animal before declaring it fit to be slaughtered and eaten. Finally, he snorted, that sound of disgust that B'Elanna had gotten used to after four days on the transport from Earth. "So, this is B'Elanna, daughter of Miral?" She almost raised her eyebrows in surprise at his pronunciation of her name; it had been a long time since she heard it pronounced properly in the Klingon fashion, the emphasis on the first syllable. When speaking in Standard, it was always said in a slight rush, the sounds mixing together. She should have known T'Krol wouldn't let his tongue slip like that.

He suddenly gave a short, barking laugh as he looked at his daughter. "She is so small and fragile!" he exclaimed in disgust. "There's no meat on her bones! How could she even raise a _bat'leth_, much less use one to defend herself in battle?"

She felt her face flush in anger, which just made her flush even more—even fairer skinned Klingons don't blush; they didn't have the blood vessels in the face for it. _Yet another demonstration of how embarrassing it is to have a mongrel child in the House of T'Krol_, she mocked to herself. Still, she kept her mouth shut, her eyes fixed angrily on the old man.

He gave another snort of disgust as he turned toward his sons and their wives, still seated at the long table. "She does not speak, not even to defend her own honor! What kind of daughter do you have, Miral?"

B'Elanna turned slightly to see her mother's expression, green eyes flashing, almost in embarrassment. "I do speak," she finally said coldly, "when something has been said that's worth responding to."

The expression on T'Krol's face was a mixture of surprise and amusement before he burst out in the wild, uncontrolled laughter that B'Elanna always disliked about Klingons. He slapped her on the back, almost hard enough to send her tumbling to the floor. "You have a good wit about you," he said, finally speaking to her. "You are like your mother. Come, sit! We will have a glorious feast in honor of the House of T'Krol!" The others around the table cheered loudly, thumping their mugs of bloodwine against the dark wood. For what could have been the hundredth time since she boarded the transport in San Francisco, B'Elanna Torres found herself wondering just what she had gotten herself into.


	2. Chapter 2

B'Elanna Torres took a long swallow of her now-cold raktajino, hoping the extra caffeine would help her stay awake long enough to finish her assignment for her advanced warp core mechanics course. She shook her head slightly to try to get her bearings before refocusing on the PADD in her hands.

It had been four weeks since she left San Francisco for Qo'noS, the last three of which had been spent doing little else but sitting in class, going to combatives training in the afternoons, and studying until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. If she was lucky, she finished her daily assignments with enough time to get four hours of sleep on that woven mat in the dorm room she shared with seven other students. Despite her initial misgivings about the room, she found she didn't mind it too much—the only time she was there was to sleep, and by the time that happened, she was too exhausted to notice the other students or the hardness of the floor.

In the times she wasn't in class or sleeping, she was in the "study", for lack of a better term to describe the large room containing nothing but tables and uncomfortable benches, where all of the students of the Klingon Institute of Engineering did their after-hours studying. _Some engineering school_, she thought with a roll of her eyes. _Making us study in a room with no technology at all_. She found herself longing for her familiar station in Admiral Chapman's impulse drive laboratory. Even when she didn't have an experiment actively running, she liked to go there to study—she found the constant rumble of the machines comforting, the flurry of activity of the other researchers familiar. Nothing at all like the corner in the silent room where she now sat.

She glanced up in surprise when she heard the barely-audible beep from her PADD, indicating an incoming message. She found herself smiling slightly as she pressed the button to accept the subspace message, already knowing who and where it was coming from. Her eyes skimmed quickly over the address line, just enough to confirm what she had suspected—it was her weekly message from Ensign Tom Paris.

The message wasn't much different than the last few she had gotten—updates on what everyone was up to, what he was doing at work, questions about how she was and when she was getting back to San Francisco. This time, though, he included a rather large data file, along with a post script. She frowned slightly as she hit the button to display the extra text, and read:

_B—Once again, my tendency to talk too much got me in trouble. I mentioned to one of the shuttle designers what I thought of the navigational array, so he decided that if I thought I could do so much better, he'd give me the opportunity to prove it. Just thought I'd pass along the data to give you a look. Consider it practice for your days as Chief Engineer—T _

She chuckled silently at the thought of the test pilot staring at long columns of numbers, trying to make sense of it all. She opened the data file, brightening slightly to see the familiar streams of numbers, recognizing the patterns and formats from her course on navigational arrays. Her warp mechanics assignment forgotten, she began to plug the numbers into equations that were still new to her, hoping to be able to figure out this problem that had just been presented to her.

She had been working on the equations for about half an hour when she stopped suddenly, her hand frozen over the PADD. She barely resisted the temptation to throw the slim piece of equipment against the wall in anger. _You're doing it again_, she scolded herself. Not for the first time, she had put aside her work that had to be done in favor of Ensign Tom Paris. Hell, that kind of behavior was why she left the Academy in the first place.

She thought back to the moment when she decided to pack her bags and leave San Francisco. She was halfway through the trial to determine how involved she was in the appearance of a Nova Squadron maintenance request to make the sublight crafts fit to perform a Kolvoord Starburst, an illegal maneuver at Starfleet Academy, and was scheduled to testify the next day. Ensign Winat Gial, a first-year law student and friend of Tom's, had stopped by to give her a pep talk, to remind her that all she had to do was tell the truth, and everything would work itself out in the end. After he left, she spent a good deal of time trying to figure out what that "truth" was. Truth: she was a good engineer, and after nearly two years as a Nova Squadron engineer, she had the ability and know-how to write that report. Truth: she didn't have much love for Cadets Nicholas Locarno and Jean Hajar, the two Nova Squadron leaders she was accused of framing. Truth: the only involvement she had with that report was to glance at it as Locarno handed it to her, and again over dinner that evening.

Truth: if she hadn't been so distracted by the thought of dinner with Ensign Tom Paris, she would have recognized the whole thing for the set-up it was, and she wouldn't have almost gotten kicked out of the Academy.

Looking back, it was so obvious she still cringed for not having seen it. Locarno, the Nova Squadron leader, had handed her a maintenance request, asking her to look it over. The squad leader _never_ gives requests to junior engineers, and Locarno personally was no exception, preferring to deal directly with the squad's chief engineer. That alone should have raised red flags, long before she activated the PADD and saw what the request was for. But there were no red flags, no warning beacons, because she was distracted by the fact that she was running late for dinner with Paris. There was nothing special about that dinner; it was just one of many in a long line of Monday night dinners they shared since he graduated from the Academy the year before, but for some reason, she couldn't get it out of her mind.

After Gial had left her room that night, his words were still ringing in her ears. _If you want to leave the Academy, that's fine. Just do it on your own terms, not his_. She had done something she had promised herself she would never do by letting her personal feelings get in the way of her professional work, and she couldn't risk letting it happen again. After she was set free from the board of inquest, she finished her last finals, packed up her stuff, and got on the first transport for Qo'noS.

And now here she was again, light years away, but still letting her personal feelings for Paris get in the way of work that needed to be done. With a few angry stabs at the PADD, she moved to delete the file and the work she had done analyzing it. She hesitated slightly when the box appeared asking her to confirm she wanted to delete the data. After a moment, she declined, instead saving it to the PADD before clearing it from the screen. If nothing else, it was good practice at navigational array analysis.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you even listening to me?" B'Elanna Torres glanced up briefly from her PADD at her mother before allowing her eyes to return to the task at hand, not responding as she picked up her mug of raktajino and took another drink. She was trying to get along better with her mother, but Miral wasn't making it easy. She found that it was often easier to ignore the older woman's words than rise to the bait and find herself in the middle of a screaming match inside the cafeteria at the Klingon Institute of Engineering.

"Is that all you're eating for lunch?" Miral continued. B'Elanna rolled her eyes; apparently, her mother was in the mood for an argument.

"I had a big breakfast," she replied as she speared a small piece of _Zilm'kach_ with her fork. She didn't, actually; she wasn't a morning person anyway, and the thought of cold _gagh_ in the morning was enough to make both of her stomachs turn. Still, she was getting tired of eating the same courses of meat with a side of meat for all of her meals, and had settled for a bowl of the small Klingon fruits for lunch. She wasn't sure if she was in danger of some sort of vitamin deficiency—she hadn't paid enough attention in any of her exobiology courses to even know if Klingons _had_ vitamin deficiencies—but she did find herself missing fruits and vegetables to the point that she was willing to eat _Zilm'kach_, one her least favorite foods growing up.

"You are getting too thin," her mother declared. "Wasting away to nothing. It's amazing you even have the strength to pick up a _bat'leth_, much less use one."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes again at her mother's words, biting her tongue to keep from getting in the same argument they had had many times over the course of the summer. Yes, B'Elanna was smaller than full-blooded Klingons. Yes, she had lost weight since arriving on Qo'noS. No, she did not have any problems in her combatives training, whether the weapon the day was a _bat'leth_ or her bare hands. She did know that the combination of the change in diet and decreased sleep was making her chronically fatigued, which was making it harder than usual to refrain from sending some sharp comments back toward her mother.

Just as B'Elanna knew she would, Miral moved on when she realized that her daughter wasn't going to respond to her words. "What is so important that you must work on it over lunch?" she demanded to know. "You should finish your school work during the designated study hours at night, so that you will be prepared to handle the events of the day with honor."

B'Elanna sighed. Only her mother would consider it a dishonor to everything holy if she failed to do all of her homework one night. "It's not for school," she finally said. "I'm drafting my resignation from the Academy. I need to have it on file before I can register for classes for the next term."

Well, that got Miral's attention. B'Elanna held her gaze defiantly for a few seconds before turning back to the PADD. "So you are leaving that school?" Miral asked after a few moments.

B'Elanna raised her eyebrows; her mother didn't sound as happy about that as she would have thought. "Yes," she replied brusquely, warning sirens going off in her head. "I'm going to finish my degree here."

"What of your responsibilities at the Academy?" Miral asked with a frown.

B'Elanna chuckled bitterly. "I don't get you!" she finally exclaimed, her frustrations and exhaustion all coming out. "I leave for the Academy, and you say I'm bringing dishonor to my family. Then when I tell you I'm leaving the Academy to finish my education on Qo'noS, you question my decision! What do you want? Please, tell me, because I'm getting tired of trying to figure it out on my own!"

For probably the first time in her life, B'Elanna saw her mother stunned speechless. "I want you to do what brings you honor," the older woman finally said, "whether that be here on Qo'noS or in Starfleet."

"Well, I'm staying here," B'Elanna replied stubbornly. Her mother didn't know the whole story of the trial in the spring or the disciplinary hearings that marked B'Elanna's two years at the Academy, and she didn't feel like explaining them. She knew her mother wouldn't ask for her reasons for leaving the Academy, and she wasn't going to give them. Besides, she didn't feel like a lecture on how dishonorable it was to run away from one's problems.

Later that night, the letter of resignation and transfer documents filed away somewhere in the registrar's office, B'Elanna sat in front of the trunk in the large dorm room, ignoring the sounds of her seven roommates around her. She removed her Starfleet combadge from the inside of the sleeve her tunic and stared at it for a moment. She had stopped wearing her Academy uniform after her first week of classes, but she kept the combadge on her for the Universal Translator, even though she hadn't needed that for the last few weeks. Apparently, all of those Klingon lessons from her mother growing up weren't as forgotten as she had thought.

She turned the small piece of metal over and turned off the power supply. Wordlessly, she reached into her trunk and pulled out her box of Starfleet medals, one of the few things Starfleet she had brought with her from San Francisco. She opened the narrow box and let her fingers graze over each medal, nestled in place in the soft velvet. Jameson award, academic honors, Nova Squadron medals, Rigel Cup recognitions—all were in there, exactly where she had left them after she had removed her dress uniform at the conclusion of the trial the previous spring. She couldn't look at those medals without thinking about what had been going through her head the last time she had worn them, but she also couldn't help but to remember what she had been feeling as she earned each one—proud of her accomplishments, pleased to be a part of something, grateful for a sense of recognition. Silently, she reached in her trunk again, pulling out her Starfleet uniform enough to remove the three rectangular pips from the stiff collar, and pinned those to the velvet of the case. After a moment, she added the familiar shape of the oval and triangle combadge to the box, and closed it with an air of finality. Even though she had made the decision to leave Starfleet when she left San Francisco three months before, she couldn't help but feel a bit sad that it really was behind her.

---

B'Elanna tossed slightly on her mat, unable to find a comfortable position, which was unusual for her; typically, she was so tired from the events of the day that she fell asleep as soon as her body hit the floor, but not this night. Her body may have been exhausted, but her mind was moving faster than warp speeds.

It had been six months since she left San Francisco. It had taken her awhile to realize that it had been that long—she had gotten used to the Klingon calendar, and no longer thought in terms of Standard days, weeks, and months. Six months. Since she left in the middle of May, that would make it—almost December? She smiled slightly when she thought about the cold San Francisco Decembers, and in the warmth of the Klingon dormitory, added that to the list of things she _didn't_ miss about Starfleet Academy.

Her first six months at the Klingon Institute of Engineering had gone much differently than her first six months at Starfleet Academy. By that time in her Starfleet career, she had already been in front of the disciplinary board twice, was already branded as the angry half-Klingon cadet who probably wouldn't make it through to see graduation. This time around, flares of tempers weren't looked upon as something bad or worthy of demerits, not that she got in nearly as many fights on Qo'noS as she had on Earth. She didn't know if it was that she was more subdued, more mature, if she was less willing to pick a fight with classmates twice her size, or if the constant strain of keeping up with her schoolwork and physical training was keeping her from having the time or the energy for such fights. No matter what it was, it wasn't helping her get along with her classmates any better at the Institute than she had at the Academy; it seemed that in both places, she was predestined to be the outsider, visibly different from everyone around her, without anyone willing to make the effort to get to know the girl behind the faint cranial ridges and defiant expression.

_No, that's not true_, she heard a voice inside her head protest. Someone _had_ made the effort to get to know her at the Academy, had taken the time to see beyond the ridges and the demerits and find out who she really was. With a jolt of surprise, she realized that it was just about two years before when she first met Tom Paris, strolling across the Academy like a crown prince surveying his future kingdom. He had infuriated her during that first meeting—he was so cocky, so sure of himself, and she just wanted to reach over and smack that smirk right off his face. Then, a few weeks after that, a chance meeting showed her that he wasn't who she had thought he was. Despite her protests, he had made an effort to show her what Starfleet was for him and what it could be for her, and eventually, a real friendship developed. And then went too far, as far as B'Elanna was concerned.

_Well, no reason to worry about that now_, she mocked herself. _After two years, you've finally managed to push him so far away that he won't be coming after you again. Congratulations, you got what you wanted. I hope you're happy_.

She silently reached for her PADD, even though she didn't need to see the words to know what they said. She had read that final, brief message from Tom so many times, she was sure the letters were burned into her retinas. Still, she turned on the PADD and thumbed through to the words she was sure she could recite without even trying.

_B—So it may take me longer than most, but I can eventually take a hint. After six months of my messages remaining unanswered, I guess I really can't assume for anything to change now. Apparently, my friendship didn't mean as much to you as yours meant to me. I hope you're happy on Qo'noS, and I hope you found what you've been looking for. I'm just sorry you wouldn't let me be the one to show it to you—T._

_PS—If you ever want to write, you know how to find me._

She stared at those words for an indeterminate amount of time before slowly reaching with her fingers toward the PADD controls. This time, when the box appeared asking her if she wanted to delete the message appeared, she pressed to confirm.

It was time for her to move on.


	4. Chapter 4

B'Elanna Torres tucked her feet in closer to her body as she rested her temple on her knee, curled into a position most Klingon spines and ligaments wouldn't allow. She smiled slightly at the thought; it had taken most of her life, but she was starting to acknowledge the strengths that both sides of her heritage afforded her. Even her classmates had grudgedly admitted that her human flexibility and cat-like movements made her a fiercer opponent than anticipated in combatives training. Still, as comfortable as she was getting admitting such strengths, it was still easier for her to see the weaknesses of either bloodline, such as her Klingon temper or her human dislike of bloodwine.

Her smile turned wry at the thought of bloodwine. Miral and she had traveled north from the capital to Qa'gaH province to celebrate the Day of Honor, her second since she arrived on Qo'noS more than a year before. Like it had the year before, the ceremony had made her introspective, preferring the solitude of the mountainous landscape outside her grandfather's house to the raucous party inside.

A lot had happened in the year since she arrived. Without meaning to, she quickly calculated how much time had gone by. If she were still on Earth, it would be March of her senior year at the Academy. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what her life would be like if she had stayed. She would be finishing her graduation project, still working in Chapman's lab and serving as the Chief Engineer for Nova Squadron, preparing to take them to Rigel Cup. _That is, if you could have kept yourself from being kicked out that long_.

"May I join you, cousin?" The words seemed to come out of nowhere, and a surprised B'Elanna took a moment to collect herself before responding.

"Help yourself," she finally said. "But shouldn't you be inside, enjoying the feast?"

"The same could be said for you," Qunok said as he stiffly sat on the ground next to his younger cousin.

She snorted slightly, turning her head toward him. "I'm not much for bloodwine and _gagh_ served in fifteen different varieties," she said dryly. "But this is your feast, for the first Day of Honor you presided over." Qunok was a religious scholar, a monk, for lack of a better term. He had just finished the rather extensive training that earned him that title, and had led the Day of Honor as his first official task in that role.

For several moments, the two cousins, as different as two people could be, sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. At least, B'Elanna was lost in hers as she thought back to a few hours before, as Qunok led her through the ceremony. Her actions had been declared honorable, but she couldn't help but believe that he had made that pronouncement more out of loyalty to family than the belief that she really was honorable.

"Miral says that you are nearly finished with your schooling." Qunok's words were a statement, not a question.

"That's right," B'Elanna replied, not turning her gaze from the stars overhead. "Less than a month to go." Although that didn't seem like much time, since a Klingon month was seventy-two days, and each day was twenty-nine hours, it would still take awhile for her finish.

"Have you given any thought to what you will do when you are finished?"

She snorted; that was _all_ she had been able to think about lately. T'Krol had been hinting, in that characteristic blunt Klingon manner, that she join the Klingon Defense Force, as her mother had done when she finished her engineering degree, but she didn't know if that would happen. For one, she had recently had a birthday—her sixteenth, by the Klingon calendar. Not a big birthday by any means. The most significant was the fifteenth, which was the age of the Rite of Ascension, the ceremony that marked a Klingon child's transition into adulthood, toward the path of becoming a warrior. She had been too busy with school to even consider preparing for the ceremony, and to her surprise, Miral hadn't pressed the issue. Without that Rite, there was no chance of her being accepted as a warrior in the Defense Force. Besides, after trying out the military lifestyle in Starfleet, she was sure it wasn't the thing for her, especially in a system where it was considered acceptable to kill those who dissented against their superiors.

Almost unconsciously, her eyes searched the night sky, finally resting on one familiar star, Sol. It wasn't the brightest star in the sky, nor a significant one, but she found it to have a special meaning for her, much more so than Kessik, despite the fact that she spent seventeen Standard years on a planet rotating that star. "I don't know," she finally replied, her eyes still turned toward that star in the Alpha quadrant. "I've been considering going back to Earth, working on starship design or something like that."

Qunok looked at her in surprise. "I did not realize you enjoyed your time on Earth so much."

"I didn't," B'Elanna said flatly. She hesitated; how could she explain to her cousin what she was really thinking, when she couldn't even explain it to herself? It was a dream—and a pipe dream, at that—that she would go to Earth, where she would set up shop designing shuttles, improving warp cores, and just generally serving as the highly skilled engineer she knew she was, with an equally skilled blond haired, blue eyed pilot by her side, working on the more practical aspects of her designs. Against her will, she sighed deeply, turning her head to again rest her temple against her knee. She knew better than to think that would ever happen; Tom Paris was as Starfleet as they came, and there was no way he would leave that for her. Despite how much he complained about the pressures his father put on him, she knew that he viewed Starfleet in an almost holy manner; why else would he have put so much effort into trying to convince her to stay? Besides, after the way she treated him after she left San Francisco—or, more accurately, how she _didn't_ treat him—she knew she'd never be able to expect anything from him again.

As if reading her mind, Qunok chuckled quietly. "So it is not Earth you enjoyed, then, but the people?"

She paused before responding. She didn't know how she felt; how would she explain it to someone else, especially a cousin who had dedicated his life to the teachings of Kahless and learning how to live with honor? She sighed again. Damn it all for making her so contemplative, anyway. "That was a long time ago," she said. "And when I left, I was only fourteen—still a child."

Qunok frowned at her explanation. "But in Standard years, you were…twenty? And is adulthood not eighteen years old in human tradition?"

She couldn't help but chuckle. "I was nineteen," she corrected. "And yes, eighteen is considered an adult." Her voice got quieter, more contemplative. "But that doesn't mean I knew what I was doing. I was still acting very much like a child." She took a deep breath and leaned her head back slightly, looking up at the stars again. "My human grandmother had an expression, something about burning bridges. It means that you've done something that you can't take back, that ruins any chance of going back."

"Your Klingon grandmother had another expression," he informed her. "If you have no bridge, you will have to go swimming."

She chuckled as she thought about those words. She didn't remember much of her mother's mother, only that she was stern and formidable woman, a perfect match for T'Krol. It didn't surprise her that she would use such an expression. "You know, Qunok, for a monk, you sure do claim to know a lot about relationships," she teased.

"I may not speak from personal experience on relationships, cousin, but I do know there is no honor is denying the desires of your heart."

She thought about that for a moment, then sighed again. "I think it's a bit too late to try to convince me to act honorably in that department," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Besides, one would have to be a fool to let the desires of the heart get in the way of what the head knows to be true." She paused for a second, then stood from her curled-up position. "Come on, we're missing the feast. If we stay out here much longer, there may not be any bloodwine left for us."


	5. Chapter 5

Just as she had done almost every day since arriving on Qo'noS more than a year before, B'Elanna Torres entered the large cafeteria and immediately grabbed a tray before scanning the room for her mother. As she headed toward her mother's table, she hazarded a glance down at what they were serving that day. _Wonderful_, she thought sarcastically. _Bregit lung_. Just as she did almost every day, she wished that she had inherited Klingon taste buds along with the redundant stomachs. Either that, or that her own mostly-human taste buds would just fall off. That seemed to be the only way she could think of to make the food seem more palatable.

"You are late," Miral said flatly as B'Elanna took a seat across from her at the table.

"I had to rebuild a cloaking emitter before I was released for lunch," she replied, poking at the meat with her fork with a sigh. _What I wouldn't give for a replicator right now_, she thought. Idly, she began to wonder if she had seen any spare parts lying around the mechanics lab that could be used to make one.

"Have you given any more thought to your future?" Miral asked, spearing her food with gusto.

"No, I figured I have plenty of time for that, with graduation coming up in a few weeks and all," B'Elanna said sarcastically, rolling her eyes for the full effect. She knew her sarcasm would only antagonize her mother, which was the desired result.

Miral snorted. "Let us hope you are as quick with final exams as you are with your tongue," she said dryly. She paused for a moment before adding, "You are a talented engineer, B'Elanna. Do not let that talent go to waste. Someone with your abilities would go far in the Klingon Defense Force, and it would bring great honor to your House."

"Your House, Mother, not mine," B'Elanna shot back without thinking, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. It was a fact that everyone knew, but nobody dared bring up in conversation. Children were born into their father's Houses; being human, John Torres couldn't claim to belong to any, and neither could his daughter. Although T'Krol had welcomed her into his family, it was not an official designation.

Miral's eyes narrowed, and the smile that broke out on her face was more of a sneer. "We will just have to take care of that, then," she said in a low tone. Without waiting for her daughter to respond, she stood from the table and walked away stiffly.

---

B'Elanna sighed as she glanced down at what she was wearing. It was a simple tunic over a pair of pants, maybe dressier than she would have worn to class, but nothing too far out of the ordinary. Considering the ceremony she was about to take place in, it seemed somehow wrong, but her mother had insisted that it was not a formal occasion, but a simple one.

Pushing thoughts of her clothing out of her head, she began sectioning her hair, not even having to think about her actions as she twisted and pinned locks back from her forehead. She found it somewhat ironic, that after always considering her hair too coarse and stiff—too Klingon—growing up, she now antagonized about the fact that it wasn't stiff enough to wear down as most Klingons did. While other's hair stayed pushed back from the forehead, hers had a tendency to fly everywhere and get in her way. She would have preferred the simple plait she used to wear, and in fact still braided her hair that way most nights before she went to bed, but such a hairstyle would only earn her ridicule from her classmates. Besides, it was most definitely not appropriate for Klingon ceremonies, no matter how simple they may be. Instead, she opted for a less often seen, but still very Klingon, method of keeping her hair away from her face but still down her back. Once her hair was complete, she again smoothed the lines of her tunic before stepping out of the dormitory toward the Institute's small temple.

Her mother was waiting for her, as impatient as ever, despite the fact that she was still several minutes early. She was also dressed simply, although she wore the sash of the House of T'Krol over her tunic, and her fully-Klingon hair didn't need any help staying out of her face. "Are you prepared?" she demanded of her daughter once she stepped into view.

B'Elanna studied her mother for a moment. "Yeah, I'm ready," she said softly. Part of her wondered what she was doing, while another wondered why she hadn't done it before.

Miral nodded stiffly. "Your grandfather is waiting," she said. Despite the brusque tone, B'Elanna caught the undercurrent of her words. Officially, this would be the last time that Miral could refer to T'Krol as B'Elanna's grandfather.

As promised, the temple was nearly deserted and sparsely decorated, with only a row of tall candles along the front table. Unlike many of the rituals that Klingons seemed to revel in, this one really was a simple and private one. B'Elanna caught T'Krol's eye and nodded slightly. He nodded solemnly in return, then took her elbow and guided her toward the back corner of the temple, out of Miral's earshot. "You are certain that this is what you want?" he asked, his voice low.

"It's for the best," she told him, but part of her wondered if that was true. The ceremony, a variation of the _R'uustai_, where two Klingons come together as brothers, was almost akin to an adoption, where the head of a House accepted one into his family outside the context of marriage. When it was over, B'Elanna would be a member of the House of T'Krol in name and law, without question. In the official sense, T'Krol would accept responsibility for her actions as a parent would; Miral would no longer be considered B'Elanna's mother, and John Torres would no longer be her father. _Not as if he had been for the last fifteen years, anyway_, B'Elanna thought bitterly. Still, she couldn't help but feel that she would be leaving a part of herself behind in that temple that day.

Seeming to know what she was thinking, T'Krol held her gaze for a moment, his eyes almost sympathetic, as sympathetic as a stringent Klingon who once made himself known in battle could be. He nodded once again, and guided his granddaughter toward the table.

She knew the words she was saying and what they meant, but didn't focus on them as she took the candle T'Krol offered her and used it to light half of the candles. A few more words were spoken by both before T'Krol declared that he took her as a member of his House and took her honor and dishonor upon himself as he did for all other members of the House. Silently, Miral stepped forward and placed a sash with the seal of the House of T'Krol over the shoulder of the woman who was now her daughter only in a biological sense.

The ceremony now complete, they extinguished the candles and stepped out in the midday sunlight. As B'Elanna raised her hand to block the sun from her eyes, she felt the slight weight of the sash. She glanced down and fingered the fabric, thinking about what it meant. She couldn't help but think that in a way, B'Elanna Torres had ceased to exist.


	6. Chapter 6

For a culture so obsessed with rituals and ceremonies, Klingons sure didn't put much emphasis on graduation. Sitting on a low bench in the study, B'Elanna checked her PADD to confirm that she had, indeed, received her degree in mechanical engineering with an emphasis in propulsion. She couldn't help but think about what that day would have been like if she hadn't left the Academy. Starfleet made a large production of the graduation ceremony, complete with speeches from admirals, captains, distinguished officials, honor students, and the like, and finished with one last show from the Nova Squadron before the eight hundred or so newly-minted ensigns went their separate ways to various postings around the Federation. She had only seen one graduation ceremony, at the conclusion of her first year at the Academy, and had thought then that all the posturing would have made the staunchest of Klingons proud. How ironic, considering how little they seemed to care about their own graduation ceremonies.

She allowed herself a small smile as she deactivated her PADD, her one private little ceremony for making it through what amounted to two Standard years at the Klingon Institute of Engineering. Things were looking up for her; she would no longer be forced to sleep on a thin mat on a hard floor, surrounded by fellow students, would no longer spend three hours a day trying to avoid broken bones in combatives training, and would hopefully start getting more than four hours of sleep a night. She had a job lined up, working at a small research facility on Ty'Gokor, far away from the Klingon homeworld and her extended family on it. It wasn't that she minded the company of the House of T'Krol, it was just that it was time for her to have some space. All in all, it was everything she had wished for.

_Well, almost everything_. She hadn't forgotten about that impossible dream of moving back to Earth, or at least somewhere inside Federation space, and finding a job there, hopefully reconnecting with her past, assuming there was anything—or anyone—there left to reconnect to. With everything that had happened recently, however, with the Day of Honor and being formally accepted into the House of T'Krol, she knew that her place was within in the Empire. Although she didn't fully feel that she belonged, for the first time in her life, she was beginning to think that it was possible that she would someday.

"Are you B'Elanna, of the House of T'Krol?" The sudden voice nearly made her jump in surprise, but she managed to collect herself as she glanced up at its source. To her, he seemed tall, but he probably wasn't much taller than the average Klingon. He had the dark skin and deep ridges of a native of the lowland ridges, confirmed by the House crest on the metal sash he wore over the uniform of an officer of the Klingon Defense Force.

"Yes," she confirmed, seeing the slight frown that crossed over his face as his eyes traveled slightly up from her eyes to the faint ridges on her forehead. She sighed inwardly.

"I am Lieutenant Koner, of the Nu'Daq Research Facility on Ty'Gokor." He paused momentarily, seeming to collect his thoughts. "I believe there's been a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding," B'Elanna repeated flatly. "Would you care to explain this misunderstanding?"

He looked distinctly uncomfortable as he cleared his throat. "It is regarding your… position at Nu'Daq," he began.

"I'm listening," B'Elanna said, narrowing her eyes slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Nu'Daq is a Klingon Defense Force facility," Koner said, "and as such, all personnel are to be members of the Defense Force."

She narrowed her eyes even further in his direction. "I was to be serving as a civilian researcher," she said flatly, "not as a member of the Defense Force."

"This is not possible," he declared. "Hence the misunderstanding. However, it is easily rectified. With your credentials, you should not have any difficulties passing the entrance exam for officer candidacy, and your commission should proceed without any problems."

"But I don't _want_ to be commissioned in the Defense Force," B'Elanna argued. "If I did, I would have taken the entrance exam and done so. I accepted the position at Nu'Daq as a civilian."

"If you do not complete the officer candidate training, I'm afraid there is no position at Nu'Daq for you," Koner said flatly. "We can administer the entrance exam as early as next week, as soon as your file has been approved by the High Council. I just need some information for your file before we can proceed." He glanced at her, his eyes moving up and down her body, although in a seemingly non-sexual sort of way. "You are… fifteen?"

"Sixteen," she replied, punctuating the word with a glare. She knew she shouldn't blame him for the mistake; with her human genetics, she looked younger than most people her age. He was probably being charitable at pegging her as fifteen. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He ignored the question, and asked one of his own. "When was your Rite of Ascension?"

Temporarily stunned, B'Elanna didn't reply. In the course of the conversation, she had forgotten that that was a requirement to serve in the Defense Force. Of course, since she had never seriously considered it as a career option, it hadn't ever come up. "I, uh, never went through the Rite of Ascension," she said, her defiant manner suddenly replaced by one more hesitant.

He glanced at her with an expression that would have seemed humorous if not for the fact that she was seeing her entire career collapse before it could even begin. "You have not been through the Rite of Ascension?" he asked incredulously, as if the very concept weren't conceivable. She felt her face flush in anger; that particular ceremony wasn't universal among Klingon adults, only those who sought to become warriors, which wasn't as common as most non-Klingons seemed to think. "Well," he said, straightening and fixing her with a sneer-like expression, the first that hadn't seemed slightly uncomfortable throughout the entire conversation, "if you decide to go through with it, you know where to find us. If not, I'm afraid there is not a position at Nu'Daq for you." He ignored the shocked look on B'Elanna's face as he turned and walked away from her.

As she watched his stiff form move away, the only thought that was going through her head was that maybe things weren't falling into place as well as she had thought.

---

B'Elanna growled slightly as she tugged at her hair, trying to dislodge a thick knot at the nape of her neck. "If you do not stop that, you will remove the hair from your head," Miral said sternly, coming up behind her and stilling her hands with her own. Once her daughter's hands were out of the way, she began to work at the knot, her actions both forceful and gentle. B'Elanna took a deep breath to try to calm herself and closed her eyes. For an instant, it was as if she were five years old again, her mother attempting to tame her wild hair as her father told her stories to keep her distracted from the pain. Her eyes flew open in surprise. She didn't know where that memory came from, and while it wasn't a bad one, it wouldn't do for her to be distracted by thoughts like that today.

"There," Miral declared triumphantly, stepping back from her daughter.

"Thanks," B'Elanna said distractedly as she finished pulling back her hair. That complete, she turned toward her mother and took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Miral studied her for a moment, taking in the leather armor, woven silver sash with the seal of the House of T'Krol, the long dark hair pulled back from the lightly-ridged forehead. "You will make a fine warrior," she declared.

B'Elanna barely bit back a sarcastic comment. Despite how well she had been getting along with her mother since she transferred to the Klingon Institute of Engineering, she still felt like Miral didn't understand her at all. She had no designs to be a warrior, only an engineer. She would do anything to make that happen—she had been willing to join Starfleet, and was now about to go through the Rite of Ascension to prepare to join the Klingon Defense Force. She smiled wryly, thinking about the painful ritual she was about to endure. Talk about really wanting a job.


	7. Chapter 7

B'Elanna shrugged off the heavy armor of her Defense Force candidate uniform as she kicked off her boots upon entering the small space that served as her "quarters" on the _IKS WenaQ_. It wasn't much of a room, but at least it was her own—for the first time since she left for Starfleet Academy, she didn't have to share.

She was a month into her training for commission, the last two weeks of which had been spent on the _WenaQ_, mostly learning ship's operations, learning to adjust to space life, and, she hated to say it, courses on diplomacy and interplanetary relations. The Klingons, of course, had a different view of such things than Starfleet, but overall, it was bringing back memories of her time at the Academy—and not the good memories.

She sighed as she collapsed on the cot, the remnants of her uniform marking her path from the door to the bed. With exhausted fingers, she unpinned her hair, made stiffer than usual by being held in place for over fifty hours without a break as she worked in the bird-of-prey's Engineering section, repairing a cloaking device that probably hadn't been damaged before the ship's officers had gotten to it. _Pointless repair after pointless repair_, she mused bitterly as she collapsed on her back on the cot, still in the tunic and pants she wore under her armor. Halfway through her training, and she was hoping it was all some bad joke, maybe some sort of nightmare she would awaken from at any moment.

Dangerously close to sleep, she barely registered the sound of her communicator being activated. _*Koner to B'Elanna,*_ the deep voice rang out.

"What?" she barked into the device, very annoyed that the lieutenant would interrupt her after how long she had been on duty. He knew how hard she had been working; he had been there for half of it.

_*Report to the Engineering office. Koner out.*_

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" B'Elanna exclaimed into the empty room. If this was some sort of test, some sort of challenge to see how far they could go with the half-human candidate, they were about to find out.

She hadn't known what to expect when she arrived for officer's training the month before, but figured it wouldn't be too bad. After all, she had survived two years at Starfleet Academy and what equated to another two at the Klingon Institute of Engineering. She had been ignored, feared, avoided, ridiculed, mocked, and otherwise tormented in the course of those years, but for some reason, she thought that those days were behind her. Before she left the Academy, she had the respect of many of her peers and professors, and by the time she had finished her degree at the Institute, she had similar respect from their Klingon counterparts. But it seemed like everywhere she went, she had to start over from scratch, proving herself to each new group of people, showing them just how good a Klingon-human hybrid could be. Her fellow candidates, and the officers who presided over them, had no idea what she had accomplished at the Academy or the Institute, and their wariness at her presence was made blatantly obvious. Instead of proving whatever preconceived notions they may have had correct, though, she worked harder than anybody else, putting in more hours in Engineering, getting more done than the other candidates and officers. Still, it seemed that nobody believed she could actually do it. She figured that somewhere, someone had a betting pool open for how long it would be before she dropped out.

With an angry thrust, she shoved her feet back into her boots, not even bothering with the armor. _So they'll see the mongrel walk around in a tunic. They'll just have to deal with it_, she thought to herself. She added a dry smile when she briefly considered braiding her hair before reporting to the Engineering office. They already thought of her as more human than Klingon anyway, so she might as well prove them right.

"What do you want?" she demanded angrily as she stalked into the small office in the corner of the massive department.

Lt. Koner glanced up at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise at her tone. They inched even closer to his deeply ridged brow as he noticed what she was wearing. "You are out of uniform," he said, his disapproval apparent before his gaze fell again to his PADD.

"Yeah, well, I'm also off-duty for the first time in fifty hours, and I really want to get some sleep, so whatever you have to say, make it quick."

He looked up from the PADD he was studying in surprise to see her arms crossed over her chest defiantly, her eyes blazing, her expression almost one of disdain. When he first met her in the study of the Institute, she had been frustrated, but remained polite, deferential, almost uncertain, and hadn't interest him at all. Now, with that expression, those dark eyes challenging him, he couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated—and aroused.

He cleared his throat slightly. He had called her down to have her begin repairs on the "damaged" shield emitters, yet another test of her endurance and stamina, but quickly thought better of it. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment, not when there were seven other candidates on board who hadn't been ridden nearly as hard. Instead, he told her, "I just wanted to let you know the cloak is fully operational again."

A series of emotions quickly flicked across her face, from relief to surprise to disgust. Finally, it settled on amazement. "You called me down to Engineering in the first down time I've had in fifty hours to tell me something I already knew?" she asked slowly, incredulously. She leaned in close to him, her eyes centimeters away from his and narrowed dangerously. "Let me make one thing clear, _Lieutenant_, if you ever—_ever_—interrupt my time off-duty with something so frivolous again, I will break your neck and use your vertebrae as a socket wrench. Do you understand me?"

It took him a moment to find his voice. "I'd say we understand each other perfectly," he managed.

She straightened, a victorious smirk on her face. "Good. I'll be on duty again in another five hours. If you have anything else you want from me, save it for then." She spun quickly, hair flying behind her, leaving a very confused Lt. Koner in her wake.


	8. Chapter 8

B'Elanna straightened from her console, acutely aware as she felt the popping of each joint along her spine just how long she had bent over it. Although she still had just under two weeks before she was commissioned as a lieutenant in the Defense Force, she was feeling for the first time since the hellish training began that things were looking up. Her days on the _WenaQ_ behind her, she was in her third and final stage of training at Nu'Daq Research Facility, learning the ropes and figuring out just how things would be working there when she officially began after her commissioning. She had to admit, it was turning out to be everything she had hoped it would be—she couldn't even see that long-ago dream of starship design back on Earth being any better than this.

"B'Elanna." The gruff voice startled her from her reverie, and she turned quickly to find herself face to face with Koner. She smirked briefly, then covered it up with an expression of slight annoyance. Since that night back on the _WenaQ_ when her exhaustion had gotten the better of her and she had threatened to break his neck for merely speaking to her, he had kept a respectful distance, never interacting with her any more than necessary for her training.

"Lt. Koner," she said formally. "What can I do for you?"

He smirked slightly, his expression almost amused. "It is Commander Koner now," he said smugly.

She raised her eyebrows slightly and gave a disinterested shrug. "I guess congratulations are in order," she said dryly. "Somehow, I doubt you interrupted my work just to brag. What do you want?"

"I have been temporarily assigned to the _IKS R'Kar_ for the next four weeks," he stated. "I will not be present to complete your training for commission. I have assigned Lt. Tokara to step in, in my absence."

She frowned slightly, trying to place the name. If she remembered right, Tokara was a warp systems analyst, one of several serving under Koner. Her interactions with the older woman had been few, but she had seemed like a competent engineer. She shrugged at the news. "Fine by me," she said, turning back to her console.

He didn't respond for a moment, then took a step closer to her, standing right over her shoulder as he glanced at the console. "You must recalibrate the magnetic constrictors," he said, pointing at the reading.

She flushed slightly; she didn't like it when anyone critiqued her work, especially when they were right. "Thanks," she managed, quickly making the adjustment. Koner didn't move from his position right behind her, beginning to make her feel uncomfortable at his proximity. She heard him slowly inhale through his nose, then give a low growl right before he turned and left the room without another word.

She stopped what she was doing, confused about what had just happened. Had he just _growled_ at her? What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Suddenly, it became very clear, and her eyes widened slightly at the realization—he was coming onto her!

For a second, she was nonplussed at the thought. Koner? And her? The very idea would have been laughable if she hadn't suddenly been able to read all of the signs—his earlier aggression toward her, then submission, his transfer when she hadn't initiated anything, that slow way he had just seemed to breathe her in, that low growl. He was letting her know that he was interested, and in the proper Klingon fashion, was taking a step back to let her take the lead.

And why shouldn't she? He was far from unattractive, especially with those dark, penetrating eyes and extremely well-sculpted physique, although that was hardly unique among the men in the Defense Force. He was a very talented engineer, one of the few she had ever met who managed to make her feel inadequate in her own knowledge. And his movements as he walked, as he practiced his _mok'bara_, were almost graceful and fluid—if he could move like that alone, just imagine what he could do in bed.

She chuckled slightly and shook her head almost imperceptibly at the thought. _Well, why not?_ a voice inside her head asked. _Maybe you really just need to get laid_. For some reason, it didn't surprise her much that the voice belonged to Siobhan Patel, even though it had been years since she had spoken to the Starfleet engineer.

Her laugh stopped abruptly when she gave that more thought. Maybe that really was what she needed. As much as it pained her to realize it, she couldn't remember the last time she had sex. It hadn't been since she moved to Qo'noS, and the last guy she dated at the Academy was Max Burke. _Kahless, has it really been that long_? She had broken up with Burke sometime in the winter of her first year at the Academy, when she was barely eighteen. After some quick calculations, she realized she was somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-two Standard years old. _More than three years_.

She shook the thought away, a smile playing across her lips as she realized what had been occupying her thoughts for the last several minutes. Two weeks from being commissioned into the Klingon Defense Force was hardly the time to be reminiscing on one's sex life. Still, she found she couldn't get the image out of her head of Koner in a loose tunic and pants as he quickly and confidently went through the motions of the _mok'bara_.

---

"N'Gar! What the _hell_ are you doing to that plasma converter?" Lt. B'Elanna shouted across the lab to the young enlisted _bekk_. The transition from officer candidate to officer had been instantaneous—one day, she wasn't even trusted to run a diagnostic without supervision, then there was a big and elaborate ceremony with far too much bloodwine, and the next, she was a lieutenant in charge of her own section of the lab, ten _bekks_ in her care, who were all trying her patience like nothing she had experienced before. It wasn't that they were bad kids—at a little more than a year younger than her, it wasn't even that they were kids—it was just that they were inexperienced; all had an interest in engineering, which was how they ended up at Nu'Daq, but no training. Teaching them enough to turn them into engineers competent enough to serve aboard ships was her responsibility.

"You said it needed to be recalibrated," the _bekk_ replied, suddenly uncertain.

"Yes, I said it needed to be recalibrated. Since when does recalibration require removing it from the casing?" she snapped as she strode over to where he was standing. She took the piece of equipment from his hands and examined it, giving off a low groan before releasing a series of particularly vile curses in two languages. She heard snickers behind her, and turned quickly toward the source of the sound, fixing two of her _bekks_ with a vicious glare that slowly turned into a malicious grin. "Since you two have the time to find this so amusing, I'm sure you won't mind preparing the system for another simulation."

Their snickers stopped abruptly, and they looked at her, aghast. "That is five hours of work!" one protested.

"Then you better get started," she replied, turning her back to them before they could protest further. When she took over that particular lab and that group of _bekks_, all but a few lacked the sense that they should respect their new superior officer, regardless of her lineage. More than two weeks later, they were still regretting that lack of decorum.

"Lieutenant!" a deep voice shouted from one of the upper work stations. She glanced up to see Captain Klarg looking down at her. "There is a ship coming in within the hour. It is your group's turn to examine the engineering section."

She barely contained the impulse to groan. "Captain, we're in the middle of a series of experiments, and preparing to start the next. Can't you send someone else?" She hoped her voice didn't sound as whiny to him as it did to her.

He fixed her with a stern look. "As you are aware, Lieutenant, that is not how things are done around here." From his vantage point at the upper deck, he surveyed her team, his eyebrows raised. "Unless, of course, you think that your technicians are not as prepared as they should be?"

She flushed under the challenge, her eyes flashing. Without turning away from her senior officer, she began shouting orders to her crew. "Krell, S'Daq, you will examine the cloaking device. U'Lagh, Tenak, be prepared to run a full warp core diagnostic. And will someone teach N'Gar how to recalibrate a plasma converter so he doesn't break anything over there?"

Klarg smirked at her. "Good," he declared. "You will be informed when the _R'Kar_ arrives."


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as the _IKS R'Kar_ docked, B'Elanna and her ten fifteen-year-old _bekks_ wasted no time getting to Engineering. Immediately moving into full on-duty mode, she didn't notice the _R'Kar_'s chief engineer standing behind her until he spoke.

"I see they offered you a commission," Commander Koner said dryly.

"I had a good teacher," B'Elanna replied, not giving him the satisfaction of actually looking in his direction. Her lips twitched into a smile. "I should thank you for leaving with the _R'Kar_. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have benefited from Tokara's teachings." Gods, was she _flirting_? Do Klingons even flirt?

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed Engineering. "Just be careful not to break anything," he said. "I'd hate to have to explain to the generals how the incompetence of one lieutenant managed to destroy an entire ship."

_That_ got a rise out of her. She spun quickly to face him, her eyes narrowed in a dangerous glare. "I will have you know, _Commander_, that I am a _very_ good engineer. If there is a problem with this ship, which considering her chief engineer is quite likely, _I_ would not be the one to blame!"

He smirked slightly. "If you say so, _Lieutenant_." He stepped back slightly, taking a moment to eye her before turning to walk away. After a few steps, he turned back toward her, his face in a leer. "Oh, and if you should need…anything, I'll be in my quarters."

B'Elanna tightened her hands into fists as she watched him walk away. How the hell did he know what she had been thinking, anyway? "Bastard," she muttered under her breath, giving herself a moment to glare at the door he had just exited before getting back to work. "N'Gar! If you so much as take another _step_ toward that plasma conduit, I'll break both of your legs!" She had more important things to worry about than Commander Koner.

---

She took a deep breath as she stood in the corridor, not really sure what she was doing. Ever since they first met in the study at the Klingon Institute of Engineer, Koner belittled her, infuriated her, drove her insane—and she was about to enter his quarters and seduce him! No, not seduce—Klingons don't _seduce_, they _attack_. The thought brought a small smile to her face. There was nothing quite like sex surrounded by angry tension, and if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she would not leave his quarters disappointed. No matter what she felt for him, at least she knew the sex would be good.

And what did she feel for him? The smile turned into a frown of concentration as she tried to figure that out. She was definitely attracted to him physically—there was no small amount of lust involved. But did she have any deeper feelings for him? She forcibly shoved that thought to the back of her mind. After all, as Siobhan had told her, feelings only get in the way. She squared her shoulders, and with a confidence she wasn't sure if she felt, pressed the announcer chime on his door.

He was sitting on the bed when she came in, a PADD in hand and an amused smirk on his face. "Took you long enough," he said.

Her eyes narrowed in the angry glare they seemed to adopt every time she was near him. "And what made you think I was coming at all?" she demanded.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away too much longer." She should have known that that was true—there was a kind of electricity between them, despite their constant fights. Or maybe because of it. That was much a part of Klingon courtship as anything else.

Suddenly, she didn't know what to do. Should she rush into his arms and kiss him passionately? Somehow, that didn't seem like a very Klingon thing to do. Break his arms, yes; fall into them, no. It wasn't that she didn't know about sex, it was just that all the guys she had slept with had been human, and she was sure that they did things differently than Klingon men. She realized with a start that with the exception of the unrealistic romance novels she liked to read when she had the downtime, all she really knew about Klingon sex and mating rituals was what she had heard during that disastrous experience in her Interspecies Protocol course at the Academy. By the time she was old enough to understand the basics, her father was long gone, and to the best of her knowledge, her mother hadn't had any other lovers while they were living on Kessik IV.

_Well, if nothing else, trust your instincts_. With a low growl, she surprised him by knocking him backwards on the bed. Almost as if a reflex, he grabbed her arm, taking her down on top of him. He gave a triumphant leer at her expression of surprise, then released a growl of his own.

His hands, despite their roughness, were surprisingly gentle as they moved aside her hair, his lips just as gentle as they traced a line along her neck. Too gentle, too restrained. She growled again, her eyes glaring at him. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "I'm not going to break!" She punctuated her words with an angry tear at his tunic, splitting it in half down the front.

He looked at her in surprise, then gave her a feral grin as he quickly grabbed her wrists, using the momentum to flip her onto her back with him on top of her, a move that almost sent them rolling off the narrow bed. With a twist of the wrist, she captured his right hand, transferring it to her own as he used his free hand to again move her hair off her neck, where he continued to kiss her, but not with the same restraint he had shown earlier. She took his captured hand and brought it up to her mouth, feeling his pulse quicken as she grazed her teeth lightly against his wrist, her fingernails tracing patterns in his palm. The vibration of his own pulse was making hers race, causing another growl to emerge from deep in her throat.

"_B'Elanna._" The way he said her name, low and urgent, gave her unexpected pause. _This is wrong!_ She didn't know where that thought came from, and quickly removed it from her mind. This was far from being wrong—she needed this, she could clearly see that now. It didn't matter that he was technically her superior officer, or that they couldn't be around each other for more than thirty seconds without coming close to blows. All that mattered was that moment.

She was about to sink her fingernails deep into his palms when she stopped suddenly, stiffening. Suddenly, she remembered why it was wrong, why she hadn't had sex since she arrived on Qo'noS, why her mother never took another lover, even why he said her name the way he did. For her, this was a release of way too much physical tension; for him, this was much more. Klingons didn't just have sex, they mated, and once mated, it was for life.

"Wait, stop," she said, aware of how ragged her voice was.

"What?" Koner asked, not comprehending her words.

"Stop!" This time, she was more forceful, pushing him away from her. "This isn't right."

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded.

She shook her head emphatically. "No, not that. We aren't after the same thing here."

"I'd say we are," he retorted, his voice low. She shook her head again.

"No," she said forcefully. "I'm looking for sex. You're looking for a wife." She pushed him the rest of the way off of her, sliding off of the bed. She stood there for a moment, trying to collect herself before she spoke again. "I'm not interested in getting married or mating for life. I can't do this to you."

He stared at her for a moment, not really comprehending. "This can be just sex," he finally managed.

She would have laughed if it weren't so serious. "No, it can't," she said. "You say that now, but you're going to want to claim me, want me to claim you, and I don't want that. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Then why did you come here tonight?" He wouldn't look at her as she spoke, still trying to collect himself.

"I told you," she replied. "I came for sex, to relieve tension—hell, I don't even know! I didn't come here to claim a mate."

He finally looked up at her briefly before turning his gaze back to the wall. "You should go," he said, his voice still low.

"Right," she agreed quietly. With the thought of making her way back to her quarters, she was suddenly very, very glad he hadn't ripped her tunic right off her.

She was almost at the door when his voice stopped her. "B'Elanna," he said. She turned to find him looking at her with a questioning gaze. "Why? Have you already given yourself to someone else?"

Somehow, she knew he wasn't talking about physically, but emotionally, spiritually, however Klingons truly give themselves to each other. "No," she said flatly. She paused slightly before adding, "And maybe that's the problem."


	10. Chapter 10

Chakotay set his jaw as his fingers moved over the engineering console, trying frantically to think of anything that could be done to resurrect the warp drive. "Damn it," he muttered darkly as the message declaring that there was not sufficient power scrolled across the screen yet again.

He glanced over at his executive officer/chief pilot/diplomat/primary entertainment, his own face set in a determined grimace. Chakotay knew that he had been a pretty decent pilot during his time in Starfleet, but he had nothing on this kid. Of course, there's only so far raw talent could take you. "What can you give me, Addison?" he asked, his voice more clipped than he had planned.

"At maximum speeds of half impulse? Absolutely nothing," Ryan Addison replied darkly. "Where the hell is that warp drive?"

Chakotay sighed. "Chakotay to Seska," he said, hoping that the internal communications relays were at least online. That hope was crushed when he saw the all-to-familiar messages declaring insufficient power scroll across the screen again.

Fortunately, it was a small ship. "Seska!" he shouted in the direction of the hatch in the back of the command area.

A second later, he heard her annoyed response. "What?"

"When can you give me warp?"

This time, there wasn't even a pause. "When you can get me a new dilithium matrix!"

"Gee, with half impulse, that should only take us about, oh, one or two hundred years to get back to the Badlands from here," Addison said sarcastically.

Chakotay sighed. This was not a good place to be stranded. "Okay, time to make a decision. Do we send a distress call or not?"

"Well, we're about three centimeters from Klingon space," Addison said, his sarcasm still in full force. He glanced over at his captain. "What's the current status between the Klingons and Maquis? Friends, foes, ambivalent?"

"I thought you were responsible for keeping up to date on general feelings of governments in the vicinity towards us," Chakotay muttered in response.

Addison chuckled. "Well, let's see… Bajorans like us, Cardies hate us, Federation's embarrassed by us, Bolians generally don't care about anything, Ferengi will be anyone's friends for enough latinum… sorry, boss, but I don't know about the Klingons. The only Klingon I've ever met was a cadet at the Academy. And she was only half."

Chakotay grunted. "What do you think, Tuvok?" He still didn't completely trust the new recruit—Vulcans didn't usually go out for the whole freedom-fighter thing—but he was a good tactical officer, and might have something to add.

The dark-skinned Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the question. "Technically, the treaty between the Klingon Empire and the Federation would prohibit their involvement in this conflict." If he had anything else to add to that, it was interrupted by the beeping at his security console. "I am reading a ship decloaking off our starboard bow." He turned toward Chakotay, his eyebrow raised. "I believe we are about to find out exactly how the Klingons feel about this conflict."

"Wonderful," Chakotay muttered. He caught Addison's grin at the Vulcan's dry manner, and couldn't help the brief smile that flitted across his own face. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Well, no use delaying the inevitable. Open a channel."

The Klingon captain didn't bother to mince words. "You appear to be having some difficulties," he said bluntly.

Chakotay fought the immediate urge to go on the defensive. "I guess you could say that, Captain…" he intentionally trailed off to allow the Klingon captain finish for him.

"I am Captain Moch of the _IKS Salach_," he declared. He raised his eyebrows at the human captain on the other end. "Your ship bears a Federation registry number, but I was not aware of any Starfleet vessels in this sector."

"There's a reason for that," Chakotay said. "We're not Starfleet."

Moch gave an understanding nod. "Our scans of your vessel indicate that your warp core and shield emitters are in need of repairs. We would be willing to send a few engineers with the parts necessary." He paused for a few seconds, then continued. "While they are working, perhaps you would be interested in beaming over to my ship for a meal. I would be interested in hearing how such a vessel arrived in this part of space before deciding what exactly our allies in the Federation need to know of your presence."

Chakotay couldn't help but grin. This man knew what he was doing, he didn't doubt that. "I will notify my engineers and tell them to prepare for the arrival of your crewmembers, and I would be honored to join you for dinner."

The Klingon grunted his approval. "I will send you our coordinates. _Salach_ out." The viewscreen went back to the previous image of the surrounding starfield.

Chakotay grinned at Addison as he stood from the engineering console. "Looks like I'm getting real food tonight," he said, clasping the younger man on the shoulder.

"And I was hoping we could swap around parts of those Cardie rations again tonight," Addison replied with a mock pout.

Tuvok seemed to straighten slightly as he realized that the captain was heading for the transporter room. "Sir, it would be most illogical for you to proceed to the Klingon vessel alone, especially with the presence of several Klingon engineers on board. May I suggest you consider taking someone with you, or perhaps sending someone else in your place?"

The Maquis captain paused at the hatch to the corridor and sighed slightly. "Tuvok, one of these days, you're going to learn that we don't always have the luxury of doing things the way they're outlined in Starfleet protocols. I went through that training, too, remember? Hell, I've even taught tactical training courses. I know the captain shouldn't leave the ship when there are members of an alien crew on board, and I know the captain should never go onto an alien ship alone. However, as I see it, that man," he said, pointing in the vague direction of the Klingon ship, "has the ability to throw us all in his brig and drop us off at the nearest Federation outpost for crimes against the Federation. I have one shot to convince him to do otherwise, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make him happy right now, which includes doing everything exactly as he says."

"Besides," Addison quipped, sensing the need to lighten the mood, "this way, no matter what the Klingon captain decides, he gets a full meal and his share of bloodwine."

Chakotay gave a quick grin to his pilot. "You've found me out, Addison. I just have a real weakness for Klingon liquor." His expression quickly became serious, slipping back into captain mode. "Have Ayala and some of the others keep an eye on the Klingon engineers, but tell them to be discrete. And make sure all of our people stay on their best behavior down there. The last thing we need is for some hot tempers getting in the way."

"You have my word, boss," Addison replied, also back in his duty mode. "Good luck." Chakotay gave him a quick nod before turning and heading toward the transporter room.

---

Chakotay had never been on a Klingon vessel before, but if anyone had asked him what he would expect one to be like, he would have described something very similar to what he found himself standing in. Everything was very utilitarian, just what was necessary, with no frills or anything frivolous. He had found himself going stir-crazy on Starfleet vessels; he couldn't imagine a deep-space mission on a ship like this.

He turned toward the transporter operator and nodded slightly before his gaze fixed on Captain Moch. "Captain," he said with a nod. "Thank you for inviting me to your ship."

The Klingon grunted. "Do not thank me yet," he warned. "I have not yet decided what should be done with you."

Chakotay nodded in reply. "I understand."

Moch studied him for a moment, giving Chakotay the impression that he was being sized up for something. He wondered if every visitor to the man's ship got the same treatment. Of course, most of the visitors weren't terrorists wanted by the Federation. "You are very cautious," Moch finally said. "You have not revealed any information of yourself or your mission. You have not even given your name."

"Cautious is how we stay alive," Chakotay replied. After a pause, he added, "Chakotay. That's my name."

Moch nodded. "Very well, Captain Chakotay. Come, we shall go to my private dining room, where I will let you try to convince me that releasing you and your crew would be the honorable thing to do." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed out of the room. With a slight shrug, Chakotay followed.

Chakotay couldn't identify any of the food in front of him, couldn't even tell what was meat, grain, or vegetable. He preferred not to eat meat, but knew better than to limit his food choices. Picky eaters didn't last long when meals weren't always predictable. With a deep breath, he dug into whatever it was on the plate that had been placed in front of him. He nearly gagged from surprise at the texture, and washed it down with what he could only assume was bloodwine. "I have to ask," he managed once he got over the surprise at the taste of the wine. "Is there really blood in bloodwine?"

Captain Moch, who had been watching the entire encounter between Chakotay and his food with some amusement, burst out in an uncontrolled laugh. "Do you really want to know?"

"No, I guess not," Chakotay said as he thought about it. At least this way he could claim blissful ignorance.

"So, Captain Chakotay," Moch said after their food was gone. "You have the bearings of a Starfleet officer, but you do not wear the uniform, and you have already told me that you are not Starfleet. How did you get from Starfleet to where you are today?"

Chakotay raised his eyebrows. He should have figured Moch would be able to tell that he had some military training. After all, Addison had told him that it was so painfully obvious from the first moment they met that the younger man was almost embarrassed for his new captain. Contemplatively, he swirled his bloodwine before answering. "I grew up on a colony, lived there until I left for Starfleet Academy. I was still in Starfleet when I got word that the Cardassians had taken over my colony. A lot of people died that day, including my father, and I haven't heard anything about or from my sister since. I found out that Starfleet and the Federation hadn't even tried to stop it from happening, and I found that I could no longer support an organization that claims to stand for protection and aid but provides neither, so I resigned. I headed back toward the colony to give my father a proper memorial, and when I arrived, I was told that my father had died trying to protect our land and our home. I took up his fight to honor his memory, and made a promise that I would continue in his footsteps until our tribe was back on our sacred ground."

Moch nodded slowly. "So you fight for vengeance, then?"

"No," Chakotay said bluntly. "I fight to honor my father and my home."

The Klingon captain grunted. "That is an honorable objective. Do all of your crew members fight with such ideals?"

Chakotay would have laughed if the freedom of his crew wasn't on the line. Instead, he glanced down into his mug of bloodwine and took another drink before answering. "We all fight for our own reasons," he finally said. "My first officer lost his parents. One of my engineers was forced to watch three Cardassians rape and kill his wife. Another engineer grew up in a Cardassian-run labor camp in Bajoran space. Some people just see a situation they know is wrong and want to help make it right. Some people won't tell anyone why they joined the Maquis." He shook his head slightly before meeting Moch's gaze. "I wish we could take resumes and make sure we only get the people who have a reason, but we don't have that luxury. If they are willing and capable, we can put them to good use."

Moch smiled slightly. "And if they are not capable?"

Chakotay smirked slightly, knowing that the question indicated that he had the Klingon's approval. "It doesn't take much training to learn how to fire a phaser," he replied. Moch laughed.

"It was good to share a meal with you tonight, Captain Chakotay." He rose from his seat, and Chakotay followed suit. "As soon as my engineers have finished repairs on your ship, you can go back to wherever it is that you came from." He headed back toward the transporter room, Chakotay following a few steps behind. "You were honest with me, Captain, so I will be honest with you. We have been gathering information on the Maquis movement for several months. There are some in the Defense Force who believe it to be an honorable fight, one that deserves the support of the Empire." He paused briefly. "You have made me one of them. When I return to Qo'noS, I will give my recommendation that we offer assistance. Your people could benefit from new shield generators and cloaking devices, hmm?"

"I'm sure we could find a place to put them," Chakotay replied with a slight smile.

Moch watched in silence as Chakotay stepped onto the transporter pad. "I will contact you once the Council has made a decision."

Chakotay nodded. "I'll send you our encryption frequencies once I arrive back on my ship."

The Klingon captain stared at his Maquis counterpart for a second, then hit the breast plate of his armor with his closed fit. "_Qapla'_, Captain Chakotay."

"_Qapla'_," he replied with a nod before he heard Moch give the order for him to be beamed back over to the _Val Jean_. It wasn't until he returned Addison's questioning glance with a wide grin that he felt himself begin to relax. For the first time, it felt like they had a friend out here.


	11. Chapter 11

Lt. B'Elanna glanced surreptitiously over the rows of consoles, not even lifting her head, still appearing as if she were concentrating on entering the new parameters for the latest experiments on the interactions between the cloaking device and the warp engines. It was a collaborative project—one of the engineers who specialized in defensive systems had come up with a design that, if they ever got it working properly, would decrease the time between decloaking and the shields coming up to mere milliseconds, reducing the time that the ship is most vulnerable in a battle. Unfortunately, the modified device made travel at high warp under cloak just about impossible, which was where B'Elanna came in. Although she already had a reputation as one of the top propulsion engineers at Nu'Daq, she knew next to nothing about cloaking devices or shield emitters, and couldn't help but wonder why they asked her to join the project when there were other engineers much more qualified. Engineers such as the one she was currently eying.

In the weeks since the disaster in his quarters, B'Elanna could count on one hand the number of times she had spoken to Commander Koner, and those had all been stiffly formal, business and nothing else. Neither mentioned that night or made any move to go down the road that had led them there in the first place. Although she knew she should be grateful that he was respecting her decision, she couldn't help but be frustrated at his actions, and her own as well. She couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she hadn't said anything, hadn't stopped them before it was too late. Would she have agreed to marry him afterwards, according to tradition?

She shook her head slightly at the thought and forced her mind back to the recalibrations of the magnetic constrictors. It was delicate work, and she couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of sex and marriage. Still, there were worse men out there. Koner was one of the most attractive men she had seen in a long time, he obviously knew his work, he lived honorably…despite those things, though, she couldn't help but feel that she would be settling. Maybe she could survive a lifetime of being married to Koner, but did she only want to _survive_ a marriage? Shouldn't it be something she _wanted_, something that made her happy, made her feel complete? She didn't have much to base an ideal marriage from, since the only one she had seen up close was that of her parents, which dissolved when she was still too young to know what was going on, but she couldn't help but feel that marriage should be something more than that.

_Get these romantic notions out of your head_, she scolded herself, again having to force her thoughts back to the equipment in front of her. It wouldn't do to have the officer in charge daydreaming while there was work to be done.

Her eyes again went to the still form of Commander Koner, standing at his own workstation about twenty meters away from where she stood. She raised her eyebrows slightly when she saw Captain Klarg approach the commander. As far as she knew, there weren't any ships scheduled to dock for the next few days, and Klarg typically avoided interrupting his engineers when they were on duty for anything less.

They talked heatedly for a few moments, and then Koner gestured toward the room, making a sweeping motion with his hand. He turned and faced the room, looking right at her. She felt the blood rush to her face in embarrassment as she dropped her gaze back to her console, then flushed more deeply when she realized that from that distance, he couldn't tell that she was looking at him. As if the bright red color to her cheeks now wouldn't be a dead giveaway.

By the time she risked glancing up again, Klarg was gone, and Koner was again giving his full attention to his console. As if feeling her eyes on him, he looked up at her and held her gaze for a few seconds before she dropped it. She turned away angrily, upset with herself. Here she was, a respected engineer, with duties and a crew she was responsible for, and she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Well, maybe not a schoolgirl with a crush—her thoughts were nowhere near that innocent. No, she felt like she had been dropped in the Garden of Eden, surrounded by forbidden fruit. _Next human guy I see, I'm jumping_, she thought. She allowed herself a slightly feral grin at the thought before turning her attention back to her work.

---

_*Koner to B'Elanna,*_ the annoyed voice called out from the comm system.

"What?" B'Elanna snapped back. She had experiments to do; she didn't have time to deal with him.

_*If you are not too busy, we were wondering if you could join us in the staff meeting,*_ came his sarcastic reply. She barely resisted the urge to growl in frustration.

"I'll be there in two minutes. B'Elanna out," she replied with an angry stab to close the comm link. She sighed in frustration. Staff meeting; just what she needed. They had to be the most unproductive waste of time anyone had ever come up with; half of the time, nobody said anything, unwilling to share their research. The other half, tempers flared and daggers were drawn. At least those meetings were entertaining.

Two minutes later, she arrived in the conference room ten minutes after the meeting had begun. She could see the looks of impatience on most of her collegues' faces, but nobody had drawn any weapons yet. Good thing, too—since she was the reason they had to wait.

"Now that we can finally begin," Koner said dryly, directing that comment on the young lieutenant, "we have some business attend to. We will forgo any progress reports, since I am sure nobody has any progress to report." This time his tone was sarcastic. He glanced around the table to see if anyone would interject, but just as he suspected, nobody had anything to offer.

"Very well," Koner continued. "Yesterday, Captain Klarg approached me about a special assignment. The High Council and the generals of the Defense Force have developed an interest in one of the Federation's 'problems', the Maquis." B'Elanna's head shot up at the word. As a former Federation citizen and Starfleet cadet, she continued to keep up to date on what was going on in the Federation. She knew about their treaty with the Cardassians and the rebellion that arose from that treaty. Koner continued on, not even noticing her reaction. "In efforts to determine whether or not we should be offering assistance, and in attempts to gather more information on this movement that we may be able to use later, the generals have decided to provide assistance to select Maquis cells in the form of equipment and/or personnel. There is one captain in particular who had made it clear that he is in need of a qualified engineer with training in propulsion systems. Since I am the head of the department, the request came to me." He stopped talking and took a moment to gauge the reactions of his engineers before continuing. "I must decide which of you to send to this Maquis captain." It was clear by his tone that he personally hadn't decided how he felt about the Maquis or about them taking one the engineers that he had worked hard to train.

"I'll do it." B'Elanna said those words quickly, without even stopping to think what she was getting into. The other engineers turned to her in surprise, and she could hear a few barely-contained snorts of amusement. She rolled her eyes at what they were thinking; she was the youngest, most recently commissioned member of the group, with the least experience—and none of that in combat. In addition, her temper was barely controlled, and she knew that many of them still looked at her slight build and faint ridges as signs of weakness.

Koner was the first to vocalize his disagreement with her words. "You?" he asked derisively. "You barely know your way around a ship's systems!"

Her eyes narrowed into a glare. She didn't know why she had quickly volunteered herself for this mission, but she was sure she didn't have the most pure of all motives. Maybe just getting herself away from Koner was one of them. That wasn't something to bring up in a staff meeting. "I'm the only one in this room with experience working on Federation systems," she shot back. She waited for anyone to dispute that claim, but nobody did.

Koner wasn't so easily convinced. "They are not that different from our own," he replied. He shook his head empathically. "You are too inexperienced. You have never had a long-term space assignment, and you have no experience in gathering intelligence."

She snorted at that and crossed her arms over the armor of her chest. "Who do you think would be better at gathering intelligence, anyway? Some Qo'noS-born Klingon engineer, or someone who could claim to be a Federation citizen supporting the fight?" She leaned forward slightly. "I may not know every single system on a ship backwards and forwards like you do, Commander, but I know how to live among humans."

There was a brief period of silence in the conference room as the engineers waited to hear Koner's response to B'Elanna's challenge. When he didn't give one, one of the others spoke up. "The mongrel has a point, Commander," he said gruffly. Although B'Elanna typically didn't take too well at being referred to as 'the mongrel' or 'the half-breed', in this case, she shot a triumphant look at her superior officer.

He conceded—slightly. His eyes traveled over the faces of each of the engineers in the room before speaking again. "I will consider it," he finally said. "I will let you know my final decision tomorrow morning. Now, get back to work," he barked. Not thrown off by the sudden change of pace, they all quickly got up from their seats and headed toward the door.

B'Elanna was the last one to the door, and when she reached it, she turned back slightly and locked eyes with Commander Koner. He kept his expression blank, but she caught a flash of something in his eyes right before he turned his gaze toward the PADD in his hands. She sighed internally and went back to her workstation.

---

She knew he was in his office for many reasons. For one, he rarely left that office before the early hours of the morning, preferring to work through theories and equations until his body forced him to rest. For another, she had just asked the computer where he was, and the computer was rarely wrong in these matters.

B'Elanna fidgeted with the PADD she carried for a moment while she tried to decide if she should go in and talk to her senior officer. To say her conversations with Commander Koner had been strained since the night they nearly had sex would be an understatement, and she wasn't sure how he would react to her off-hours visit, especially considering the casual tunic and pants she was wearing, her hair gathered in a loose ponytail at her neck. As she had done every day, she had abandoned the armored uniform the moment she entered her quarters after her duty shift had ended, wondering, as she had done every day, why armor was necessary to work in at a research station in the middle of nowhere.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and acknowledged to herself that there was no way to get around having this conversation. With a new surge of resolve, she pressed the announcer chime.

"Come in," Koner's deep, distracted voice called out. A second later, a look of surprise crossed his features when he looked up to see who was standing in the doorway of his office.

"You have to let me go on this mission," B'Elanna said bluntly as the doors slid closed behind her.

"Oh, really?" he asked, amused. "And since when did I take orders from you?"

She flushed slightly in anger. "I'm the best one for this, and you know it. Everything I said in that meeting is true. I have experience with Federation ships, I know how to live among humans. Hell, Koner, I grew up on a Federation colony! If anyone at this damned station has a reason to join that fight, it's me!" Never mind Kessik IV was far from the Demilitarized Zone that separated Federation and Cardassian space, or that she had never felt attached to it enough to fight for it while she was living there, but Koner didn't need to know that.

In truth, she hadn't realized her own reasons for wanting to take this mission until hours after she had volunteered. She had been standing at her workstation, going through the results from her latest experiments, when she remembered a conversation that had happened years before between her and then-Ensign Winat Gial. The Bajoran law student had told her in the confidence of her quarters a story he had only told one other person, the story of his father, a Bajoran Vedek, killed by Cardassians, his mother captured and never seen from again. In a fit of adolescent vengeance, he had informed members of the Bajoran resistance of a spy among the members of the Vedek Assembly, leading to the death of the priest. Gial, then a studious, peaceful teenager who had spent his life training for a career as a religious leader, had a hard time coming to terms with what he had done, and had left Bajoran space in favor of joining Starfleet. He had told her that he still felt guilty for what he had done, still felt afraid that someone would find out and that he would lose everything he had worked so far to achieve in the years since.

In a way, she owed her life—or at the very least, her self-respect—to that quiet law student. She knew that while he may not have the constitution to go after Cardassians on his own as some sort of Maquis rebel, she did. She could do this for him, for his vengeance against those who had killed his parents.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Koner said quietly, interrupting her thoughts. "You haven't lived in space for a long period of time. It isn't always an easy life, especially if you have to live on the run. I do not know if you have the strength for it."

She glared with all her might, her body tense. "You mean because I'm only half-Klingon," she interpreted. "Should I remind you that those Maquis are doing just fine without the benefit of any Klingon genetics?"

"I doubt many have your temper," he shot back.

She continued to glare, but she didn't have an argument for that. She knew it was bad when she had a reputation for being short-tempered among a group of Klingons. Sighing, she switched tactics. "It's best for the Empire if you send me instead of someone else," she declared.

"Oh, really?" he asked, again amused.

"If the ship is captured, it would be difficult to explain to Federation authorities the presence of a Klingon among the crew, when the Klingons are supposed to be neutral in this conflict. If I am there, I could be just another Federation citizen, and they won't have to know."

"You would go to prison," he pointed out.

She snorted. "And I would serve that sentence with honor, knowing that I am protecting the Empire." She didn't really feel that way; even after taking a commission with the Defense Force, she wasn't terribly patriotic, but she figured it would end Koner's arguments.

It did. He sighed deeply, aware that she would have a response for each of his protests. Not knowing how to interpret his silence, B'Elanna pressed forward. "Besides, it's best for you to get me away from here for awhile," she said quietly.

He snorted at that. "You have a pretty high opinion of yourself if you think your mere presence is interfering with my work."

She studied him for a moment, noticing the way he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Right," she replied. She sighed and tugged slightly at her hair, not even realizing she was doing it. It was a tic she had picked up years before, a sure sign that she was uncomfortable. "Koner—"

He interrupted her before she could continue. "I'll take your words under advisement, Lieutenant," he said brusquely, finally able to look her in the eye again.

She stilled for a second, aware that that was a dismissal. "Yes, Commander," she said quietly before she turned and left the office.


	12. Chapter 12

Chakotay glanced over at his co-pilot and sighed inwardly. Tuvok wasn't his preferred company, but as he told Addison, he still didn't completely trust the Vulcan ex-Starfleet officer, and if there was one thing Chakotay had learned from his time in the Maquis, it was that the old saying "keep your friends close, your enemies closer," was more than just good advice; it was how you stayed alive. Besides, he had recently found out about a shipment of medical supplies to Deep Space Four, and he needed Ryan available for that mission. He knew his de facto first officer was still a bit too impulsive, but they had a narrow timeframe for that mission, and if anyone had the piloting skills necessary to pull it off, it was Ryan Addison.

"What's our distance from Ty'Gokor?" he finally asked, if no other reason than to break the silence.

The impassive Vulcan glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. "We should be arriving at the planetoid within the hour," he replied. Chakotay nodded in reply as he scanned the area again, if for no other reason than to keep himself occupied. There wasn't much in the ways of entertainment on the small shuttle, especially with Tuvok as his only companion. He hoped the Klingon officer they were picking up would be a better conversationalist. At least it wasn't possible to be a worse one.

"We are being hailed from the station," Tuvok informed him.

"On screen," Chakotay ordered. A second later, a gruff-appearing Klingon appeared on his viewscreen.

"Shuttle _Anaraha_, this is Captain Klarg of Nu'Daq Research Facility. Am I speaking to Captain Chakotay?"

"Yes, I'm Chakotay," the Maquis captain replied. "Is there a problem?"

The Klingon grunted. "I was told to expect a larger ship, the _Val Jean_," he replied.

Chakotay nodded. "That's my ship. It's currently undergoing repairs, and I didn't feel the need to bring my entire crew for this mission. I'm here with my tactical officer, Tuvok."

Klarg nodded. "Very well. We will prepare one of our shuttle landing sites for your arrival. Proceed to these coordinates." A series of numbers appeared at Chakotay's console, which he recognized as a landing site.

"Understood, Captain. We look forward to meeting you."

"And we you," Klarg replied with a brusque nod. "Nu'Daq out." The screen went back to the surrounding starfield.

"Friendly sort," Chakotay muttered to himself as he input the coordinates into the helm controls. Tuvok only raised an eyebrow in response.

---

To his surprise, Chakotay found two Klingon officers waiting for them at the shuttlebay, the older Captain Klarg and a tall, well-built man with skin as dark as Tuvok's and a penetrating gaze that made Chakotay slightly uncomfortable. He wondered if his man was the propulsion specialist he was promised; he had been told it was a lieutenant, and since the Klingons didn't wear ranks on their uniforms, he had no way of telling if this was the man. He looked young enough to be a lieutenant, maybe mid to late twenties, but Chakotay had to admit he didn't know how quickly Klingon officers made their way through the ranks.

"Captain Chakotay," Klarg boomed when they stepped out of the shuttle. He didn't acknowledge Tuvok's presence. "This is Commander Koner, the head of the propulsion research department. He will be showing you the facilities."

Ah. So this wasn't his new "liaison officer." He was a bit relieved at that; there was something a bit unsettling about the large man, but then again, there was always something slightly unsettling about Klingon officers. There was something about them being big and strong enough to pound a lesser man into a pump without breaking a sweat that had a tendency to put Chakotay on edge. "This is Mr. Tuvok, my tactical officer," he introduced, gesturing toward the Vulcan. Both Klingons nodded a quick greeting before turning to exit the shuttlebay with the order for the Maquis to follow remaining unstated.

"This way," Koner said when they reached an intersection in the facility's corridors. Chakotay raised his eyebrows as Klarg split off from the others without so much as a farewell. "I will take you to the ship docking site. The lieutenant I have assigned to you is doing systems checks to the _U'raH_ this morning. We will make introductions there."

"Sounds good," Chakotay said. Koner grunted in reply.

They entered the docking site, then made their way to the Engineering section of the _U'raH_, an impressive-looking Bird-of-Prey. As they approached, Chakotay began to hear what sounded like an angry woman's voice shouting orders in a mixture of Klingon and Standard. He frowned as he glanced down at his communicator around his wrist. The communicator, and the universal translator in it, were Starfleet issue—about eighty years before. They worked fairly well about seventy percent of the time, and the times they went on the blink, usually for no apparent reason, weren't usually a problem; the _Val Jean_ was a small enough ship that a loud enough shout could be heard from one end to the other, and with the exception of a few of the younger Bajorans who had grown up in the worst parts of the Bajoran system, everyone knew enough Standard to be able to communicate with their shipmates until the translators were either fixed or for some strange reason, fixed themselves. The only problem was when they went out when they were at a base or port-of-call, where a misunderstanding from an improperly functioning communicator could be fatal.

Koner caught the gesture and chuckled. "Your translators are working fine. She has a tendency to speak in both Klingon and Standard. We have gotten accustomed to it." Chakotay thought he heard something beneath the words. Maybe they were lovers? Whatever the situation was, it wasn't his concern.

"B'Elanna!" Koner yelled into the Engineering section.

"What?" That angry response was in Klingon.

"The Maquis captain is here. Stop your primping and get down here."

They heard a long swear in Klingon, followed by the clattering of tools. "N'Gar! Finish up with this, and if you mess up again, by Kahless, I'm ripping off both of your arms!"

"She sounds pleasant," Chakotay said dryly.

"You have no idea," Koner replied, just as dry.

A moment later, a slight figure covered in the armor of a Defense Force uniform emerged from behind a workstation. Chakotay blinked in surprise. He had never seen such a small Klingon, even a woman, and she was wearing her hair slightly differently than he had ever seen. She turned slightly, revealing ridges that looked a bit too faint to belong to a full-blooded Klingon. "Captain Chakotay, let me introduce you to one of our propulsion specialists, Lt. B'Elanna of the House of T'Krol."

She appeared to study him for a moment, then smiled slightly as she extended her hand. Chakotay didn't know that Klingons shook hands as a greeting, but he'd go along with it. "To humans, it's B'Elanna Torres." The words seemed to surprise Commander Koner, and Chakotay wondered if he had heard her full name before. She said it differently than he had as well, not accentuating each syllable the way he had, making it sound more in place when speaking Standard.

"I would love to stay and chat, Captain," she was saying, "but I have a lot of work to do on the _U'raH_, and if you knew the _bekks_ I have in my care, you wouldn't trust them to do it alone, either. There is a restaurant in the command center of the station. What time is it?"

She directed the question at Chakotay, not Koner, so after a moment trying to process the question, he replied, "Uh, about 1100."

She nodded, glancing at the chronometer she had on her wrist, probably making conversions between Klingon and Standard time before turning to Koner. "Drop them off at the restaurant this evening at six." Chakotay didn't know if that was Standard time or Klingon, but he didn't want to ask.

Koner rolled his eyes slightly. "As you wish, Lieutenant," he said sarcastically.

She narrowed her eyes and muttered something indecipherable under her breath before she gritted her teeth and said, "Thank you, _Commander_." When he didn't add anything, she gave another quick nod to Chakotay and Tuvok before turning back, already shouting more orders at her crew. Chakotay watched Koner carefully as she walked away. There was definitely something going on between those two.


	13. Chapter 13

B'Elanna Torres was already seated at a table in the utilitarian cafeteria/restaurant area, sipping out of a mug while studying a PADD when Koner brought Chakotay and Tuvok in after showing them much of the station. She had changed out of her armor, wearing a nondescript tunic and matching pants that Chakotay had seen on few off-duty workers on their way there.

"I have brought the Maquis to you, as ordered," Koner said sarcastically as they approached the table.

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks," she replied, just as sarcastically. If this was some act to appear that they weren't sleeping together, it was a good one. Either that, or one wanted to sleep with the other, and the feelings weren't mutual.

Koner glanced at the PADDs on the table. "Are those your end reports?" he asked the younger engineer.

She nodded, setting them aside. "I'm not done yet. I'll bring them by your office tonight."

He studied her for a second before nodding. It was apparent she didn't want him to stay for dinner. "Very well," he said. "I will leave Captain Chakotay and Officer Tuvok to you, then. Take them to the guest quarters when you are finished with your meal."

"I will." She held his gaze for a moment before he turned and walked away.

The curiosity was getting too much for Chakotay. "So what's that all about?" he asked as he slid into the seat.

"None of your damned business," she replied without any real infliction to her voice. She gestured with her thumb toward the front of the room. "The food is over there. There is raktajino to drink, or bloodwine, if you prefer. I would stay away from the juice, if I were you. It isn't very palatable. Oh, and don't get the _Ronak'waQ_," she added. "I'll point it out if they're serving it tonight. It's not digestible to humans. You'll be up puking all night if you try."

"Thanks for the warning," Chakotay commented as they rose to get their food.

"I wouldn't want you to think that you're being poisoned." She glanced over at Tuvok, then Chakotay again with a frown. "Vegetarian?" She had directed the question toward Tuvok, having heard once that Vulcans didn't eat meat.

"Actually, yes," Chakotay replied. "Both of us." She nodded.

"I'll show you what to get, then. And don't drink the bloodwine." Hmm. So maybe it did have blood in it.

Their trays in hand, they returned to their table and ate quietly for a few moments. Finally, Chakotay broke the silence. "So, tell me about yourself."

She studied him for a moment as she took another drink of her raktajino. "Listen, Captain, let's get something straight. You don't trust me, and I don't trust you. I'm not out to find new friends, and I doubt you are, either. All you need to know about me is that I am a damned good engineer and can fix just about anything you can break. Other than that, well," she shrugged. "I don't think you need to know anything other than that."

He nodded slowly as he took another bite of food, his eyes not leaving hers. "Okay, then let me tell you what I already know. You're a lieutenant in the Klingon Defense Force, but you speak flawless Standard, have a Spanish surname, and know to ask if we're vegetarians, so I'm guessing you grew up in the Federation, probably surrounded by humans, maybe even on Earth. I'm guessing you know all the right words about 'honor' and 'duty', but couldn't care less about them, and will do what you want in the end. Am I right?"

She blinked at him in surprise a few times, then a thick veil fell over her face. "Listen, Chakotay," she said, emphasizing each syllable with a Spanish accent, "you may have me pegged as some contrary half-breed with an attitude, and you wouldn't be too far off, but if you think you can get a response from me with some pseudo-psychoanalytical bullshit, you're _way_ off the mark. You may be right about my definitions of 'honor' and 'duty', but when it comes down to it, I will do my damnedest to do my part to keep you alive. Klingons don't do anything halfway." She paused slightly. "And neither do half-Klingons. If you want an engineer, I'll be that engineer. Hell, I'll go with you to raid Starfleet stations and free prisoners from Cardassian prisons, if that's what you do. But if you want someone you can connect with on a deep, spiritual level or someone you can rescue from her demons, you're going to have to look elsewhere. My demons and I are just fine."

He looked at her with an expression of amusement. _Oh, this was going to be fun._ "Actually, Lieutenant," he drawled. "I think you'll fit in with my crew just fine."

---

B'Elanna's quarters, like all other officer quarters at Nu'Daq, were small and plainly decorated and gave little indication as to the personality of the person occupying them. The only thing different about these quarters was the large duffle bag half-filled on the bed, the single occupant of the room slowly going through her belongs, determining what was necessary to be packed and what could be left in storage until she returned.

She was about to open the box containing her Starfleet medals when she heard the chime of the door announcer. "Come in," she said in surprise. She wasn't expecting company.

She was even more surprised to see Commander Koner standing in her doorway, looking almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him. She had turned in her end reports to his office shortly after dinner that evening, and he had gruffly wished her good luck on the mission, flatly stating that he would not be there to see her off in the morning when she left with the Maquis captain and his tactical officer. She hadn't expected to see him again until she returned, and she had no idea when that would be.

She flushed slightly when she realized that it was probably her appearance that surprised him so much. He had never been to her quarters before, had no idea that as soon as she was done with her work for the day, she changed into the tank top and shorts she slept in, tightly braiding her hair just as she had done while at the Academy. She supposed that between the way she looked at that moment and the way she had greeted the Maquis officers—using her human name, slipping easily into speaking Standard—she must seem even more human than she ever had before.

His surprised expression was quickly exchanged for one of determination as he crossed the small room and grabbed her elbows roughly, pulling her close to him and bending his face down to hers to kiss with such force that she was sure her lips would be bruised. She was too shocked to react for a second, then felt herself give in. Once her brain caught up to her body, she stiffened, then forcibly pushed him away. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I can not let you go on his mission without you knowing how I feel," he said, his voice low. "And if that means that this is only sex, because that is how you want it, that is what it will be. I will do what you want."

She shook her head slowly as she backed away from him, her eyes never leaving his. "No," she said softly. "No. That's not what it will be to you, and I can't do that to you. I can't make you claim that this is something that it isn't, or isn't something that you want it to be."

"B'Elanna," he said, reaching forward for her. She ducked easily away from his hand, his arm falling limply to his side. "We cannot help who we fall in love with, we cannot understand how or why it happens. I will give anything and everything for you and put your needs before my own, even when I do not understand your needs."

She shook her head again. "That's just it, though," she said. "We can't help who we fall in love with, and we can't help who we _don't_ fall in love with. I don't love you, Koner, and I don't think I ever could."

"If this is not love between us, then, what is it?"

She paused, trying to find the words. "Lust. Attraction. Passion. _Par'Mach_." There were a few more adjectives she could think of it both Standard and Klingon, but she didn't think any more were necessary. "Not love."

He sighed deeply and turned slightly away from her, staring at the wall where her _bat'leth_ had hung until an hour before. He turned back to her, his gaze penetrating. "Perhaps when you return, you will feel differently."

She didn't want to tell him that there was no chance of that ever happening, that she couldn't see herself settling to marry him just because he was the best option around. "Perhaps," she said, wondering if the word sounded as hollow to him as it had to her.

He nodded absently then took the step toward her. This time, when he put his hands on her arms, she didn't back away. In a surprisingly gentle gesture, he kissed her lightly on the forehead, right on her center ridge. "I will see you in a few months time," he said as he pulled away. He didn't give her a chance to respond as he turned and walked out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

It took almost two weeks to get from Ty'Gokor back to the Badlands, where Chakotay's Maquis cell was making repairs on the _Val Jean_ and awaiting their's captain return. During the trip, the Maquis captain and Klingon engineer made an effort to get into a good working relationship; he gave her the schematics of the _Val Jean_ so she could familiarize herself with the systems, and when he expressed how impressed he was at how comfortable she was with Federation technology, she decided to let him in on the fact that she had spent two years at Starfleet Academy as a Nova Squadron engineer. He didn't ask for any more information, and she didn't give it.

After landing on the nearly-deserted planet in the Badlands, they emerged from the shuttle to find a small reception of Maquis officers, whom Chakotay studied with a frown on his face. That frown was quickly erased, however, by the tall Bajoran woman who rushed up to him and practically smothered him in a kiss. _Okay, I get the point_, Torres thought as she rolled her eyes at the display. It was clearly meant as a warning to her to stay away from the captain. _So much for jumping the first human guy I run into_, she thought with a slight smirk. Too bad, too—she rather enjoyed the tall, dark, handsome, strong and silent thing he had going on.

"Ayala," Chakotay said once he disentangled himself from the Bajoran. "Take our new engineer to the ship and show her her berth. Oh, and check her bag, too."

A man stepped forward from the group, another who could have fit the "tall, dark, handsome, strong and silent" description, and Torres found herself raising her eyebrows appreciatorily as he gestured for her to follow. If these were the types of guys in the Maquis, she could get used to this assignment.

The berth was small, which wasn't unexpected in a ship that size, and consisted of two thin mattresses attached to the lids storage areas of some sort. "There's no place to unpack," Ayala explained as he lifted the top of one of the compartments. "Most of us just keep our duffels in here. You're sharing a room with Seska, but she doesn't sleep in here very often."

"The Bajoran who greeted the captain when we arrived?" Torres asked dryly. The taller man gave a quick grin in response before he reached for her bag. "What are you doing?" she asked sharply, pulling it closer to herself.

"Chakotay said to check your bag," he said as an explanation, no apology in his voice. "You know, to make sure you aren't hiding any weapons or have any intention of killing us in our sleep."

She flushed slightly when she thought about what she had in the bag. Well, no way to hide it now. She yielded it and closed her eyes with a sigh, waiting for the fireworks. She heard the sounds of the bag opening, followed by a low whistle, and couldn't help but smirk, knowing what he saw. Sure enough, he pulled out a vicious-looking _bat'leth_ and held it in front of him. "Impressive," was all he said.

She snatched it from him, causing him to release it in surprise. "It's a ceremonial _bat'leth_," she explained, twirling it a few times in the movements that had become second nature to her. "My grandfather had it specially made for me when I was commissioned into the Klingon Defense Force. It's smaller and lighter than a traditional _bat'leth_ and weighted slightly differently, to accommodate my build." With a quick motion, she spun it toward him, hearing the sound of the blade cut through the air, stopping it centimeters from his head. His eyes were wide, but he didn't move. She brought it down and handed it back to him. "Not a very practical weapon for this type of fighting," she said as he took it. "It's not as if I'm going to be going after Cardassians with this thing strapped to my back, but a warrior is never far from her blade."

"It looks lethal," he commented, lifting it slightly to test the heft.

"It is," she confirmed. "That's more lethal in my hands than a traditional _bat'leth_ would be." He touched a block of wax fixed over one of the points and frowned slightly. "Wax," Torres confirmed. "To protect the blade and the carrier when it's not intended for battle." She took it from him again and set it on her bunk, fixing him with a challenging look. "I don't care what you tell your captain, this stays with me. Don't worry, if I had any intention of going after anyone with it, I would have already."

She watched the Maquis' dark eyes go from her _bat'leth_ to her duffle to her and back again as he thought about that. He nodded slowly. "I'll tell the captain. He can decide what to do with it."

Figuring that was as good as she'd be able to get from him, she nodded in agreement as he reached for duffle again. There wasn't much of interest in there—some PADDs, a few pairs of boots, a couple of changes of clothes. Encountering something hard, he pulled it out and raised his eyebrows at her. "This looks interesting," he said, studying the bottle of French champagne he now held.

"If you even think about taking that, you'll be seeing the business end of my _bat'leth_ so fast you won't know what happened," she said bluntly, holding out her hands for the bottle. She had forgotten she even had it until she was packing her things at Nu'Daq and came across it in the back of her dresser, wrapped in an old tunic. She had taken it from a New Year's party in France when she was still living on Earth, and was one of the few things she had left to remind of the good times from her days in Starfleet.

Maybe it was the Klingon ridges or the flat tone in her voice, but Ayala decided it would be better _not_ to argue with her. He silently handed the bottle to its owner, made another brief check through the duffle, and nodded that he was done. "Looks like we're good here."

She nodded slightly, her eyes not leaving his face as she tried to determine what kind of threat he—and the rest of the Maquis crew—would be. He held her gaze for a moment before turning to leave, but her voice stopped him. "Can you show me to Engineering?" she asked as she pulled out her toolkit from her bag. "I'd like to get started."

He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Follow me." She wouldn't say that his tone was friendly, but it seemed accepting. She didn't often get that the first time she met someone new_._

---

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" B'Elanna looked up in surprise into the scowling face of the Bajoran who had practically attacked Chakotay as they got out of the shuttle. Seska. Her roommate, and from the looks of things, an engineer, maybe even the chief engineer. _So she's as possessive about her engines as she is about her men. I can understand that_, she thought with a slight smirk as she turned her attention back to the dilithium matrix. That sort of a claim on an object seemed very Klingon, or maybe even Cardassian—not a trait often found in peace-loving Bajorans. Of course, peace-loving Bajorans didn't have a tendency to run off and join the Maquis.

"Your dilithium matrix is about two seconds at warp away from burning out," Torres said matter-of-factly, straightening from her crouched-over position.

Seska smirked at her. "The piece of crap came from a Klingon ship," she sneered. "It never worked right."

Torres rolled her eyes at the taller woman. "That's because you don't know how to deal with Klingon technology. Let me guess—you insisted on installing it yourself instead of letting the Klingon engineers take care of it." She figured by the flush on the other woman's cheeks that she was right. "Don't worry. I fixed your mistakes. It should work fine from now on." She sighed inwardly when she saw the hurt look on the Bajoran's face. _Not how you want to start a new job, Torres_, she scolded herself. Time to make nice. "Listen, it's a pretty innocent mistake, if you're not used to dealing with Klingon equipment. From what I've seen of this engine room, you've done a pretty good job keeping everything held together."

Seska snorted. "Keeping it held together is just about all we _can_ do." Her expression softened somewhat, and she extended her hand in greeting. "I'm Seska, by the way."

"B'Elanna Torres," she replied, taking it.

"You're not what I expected when Chakotay said he's going to get some Klingon engineer, but he says you're supposed to be some sort of engineering genius."

Torres shrugged. She didn't take compliments well, but she also wasn't one for false modesty. She was a highly qualified and very well-trained engineer, and she knew that. She changed the subject. "When are we scheduled to take off from here?"

"Sometime tomorrow," Seska replied without hesitation. "We've been here over a month, and we're all getting a bit restless. We don't sit still very well."

Torres grunted. She knew the feeling. If she didn't have something to fix, she started to feel antsy within a couple of hours. "Were you just waiting for Chakotay and Tuvok to get back?"

The Bajoran rolled her eyes and snorted. "That, and waiting for his first officer to return, but the idiot got himself captured by Starfleet after ripping off some medical supplies." Well, that explained why the Maquis captain looked so unhappy when they first arrived on the planet.

"Hey, are you the new engineer?" a new voice asked from the entry way to engineering. Both women turned in surprise to face a petite woman with blond hair cut boyishly short. She took a few steps toward them. "I'm Jeni Jackson. It's nice to meet you." She seemed like one of those girls who were constantly bubbly, always friendly toward everyone to their faces before turning snide as soon as their backs were turned--the type that B'Elanna long ago learned to stay far away from.

Without waiting for a response, she eyed Torres up and down and frowned slightly. "What you're wearing is fine for when we're at a planet," she said, taking in the lightweight shirt and pants with the low boots the half-Klingon was wearing, "but that's not going to do if you're going to be working in engineering when this bucket is moving."

Torres turned to Seska with a frown, who nodded at Jackson's words. "She's right," she confirmed.

"As much we love getting all decked out in suede and leather for our missions, we don't just do it for fun," Jackson continued. "Especially in engineering. The leather keeps the plasma from blown conduits from burning straight through your clothes, and if you have anything that flows at all, it's going to get caught on something." She frowned slightly. "Chakotay said we can use the replicators to get you some appropriate outfits. You're going to need tight clothes and boots that cover your legs past your knees." She chuckled slightly. "At least you've got the body for it."

Seska laughed at that one. Turning to Torres, she explained, "Just wait until you see Chell in his leathers. It's not a pretty sight."

Torres sighed. At least suede and leather wouldn't be as burdensome as metal armor, which she conveniently left at Nu'Daq. Indicating that she would follow, she gestured for Jackson to lead the way to the replicators.


	15. Chapter 15

"Damn, I hate this ship!" Torres shouted as the jolt of weapons fire woke her from the first real sleep she had fallen into since the _Val Jean_ had taken off for some mission or another. She was never left out of the loop of the specifics of what they were doing, she just didn't care. As an engineer, her primary concern was keeping those engines running to the best of her abilities—they could be dog-fighting Romulan warbirds or doing stunts with Nova Squadron shuttles for all she cared.

Trying to anticipate the movements of the ship in an effort to keep her balance, she sat on her bunk as she pushed her feet into the thigh-high brown leather boots Jeni Jackson had replicated for her on her first night with the cell. In the three brief weeks they had been in space, she learned quite a bit about how to survive life as a terrorist, freedom fighter, whatever euphemism they were using that day. She slept whenever she could, because she didn't know when the next break from the fighting would come. When there was food, she ate it, regardless of how it tasted. If she got a chance to take a sonic shower, she did, and put her clothes in the refresher while she was in there. Other than that, the clothes stayed on. It was easier to shove a pair of feet into boots in a hurry than it was to change out of pajamas and into her fatigues while the ship was under attack, and there was no way she would show up to repair any part of that ship wearing anything less—Jackson was right, the leather was necessary to keep from getting hurt.

She was already halfway to engineering when her communicator beeped._ *Torres, get to engineering, now! We can't afford to lose warp!*_ Chakotay ordered. She growled slightly at his tone.

"What do you think I'm doing, taking time off for a bubble bath?" she shot back. She didn't need to be told how to do her job, especially by someone who had no idea what he was talking about.

As soon as she arrived in the room that was more of a home to her than her own berth, she quickly assessed the situation before barking out orders. With the exception of the fact that Chakotay was in charge, there was no hierarchy on the ship—no first officer, no chief of security, and no chief engineer. By default, Torres had changed that. She was the only one with formal engineering training, the only one with leadership experience, and the only one who managed to keep everyone in line in the middle of a crisis. Even Lon Suder listened when she spoke, and her orders were the only thing that got that far-away look out of his dark Betazoid eyes. He was one creepy man, there was no doubt about that.

In her haste to get to work, she had forgotten about her hair. It was still tightly braided from whenever it was that she last got out of the sonic shower, but not coiled in a bun at the nape of her neck as it usually was when she was working. That was another thing Jackson was right about—anything flowing would get caught on something, and Torres didn't want her hair included in that.

Long after the ship stopped shaking from Cardassian fire, B'Elanna was still in engineering, trying to undo the damage—again. She muttered a particularly vile Klingon curse as she came across another fused relay. "What do you expect me to do, Chakotay? Make EPS relays out of thin air?" she muttered angrily as she removed the offending part and added it to the mental shopping list she kept for the ship. They were low on the supplies they needed for repairs, and if this continued, they would find themselves dead in the water without any hope of returning to the Badlands.

She quickly made a move to continue repairs, but her head wouldn't cooperate. With a slight feeling of panic, she realized that her hair was stuck. She was about to reach behind her to tease the braid out of whatever it was in when she heard Chakotay's low voice in her ear. "You shouldn't wear your hair like that," he said, quietly enough to keep from attracting attention as he held her in place by her thick braid. "Do you think a Cardassian is going to just let you walk on by when you practically have a leash hanging down?"

In a quick, angry movement, she did probably the last thing the Maquis would have considered: she brought her laser cutter up and cleanly sliced off the braid near her head. Before he could react, she thrust her elbow behind her into his abdomen. When he doubled over in pain, she grabbed his arm, using the momentum to swing it and herself behind him, her laser now active and held steady right in front of his neck. "_Don't_ you _ever_ think I'm not ready for anything you or anybody else could dish out!" she hissed at him. She held him there for a moment before turning off the laser and releasing his arm. He still hadn't managed to take in a breath, much less turn to see the murderous glare in her eyes. "And if you ever, _ever_ lay a hand on me again, I'll be serving your severed head bloodwine made from your own veins. Do you understand?" He could barely manage to nod his acknowledgement.

Even though she was still shaking from the adrenaline rush, she slowly turned away from him and continued to shout orders her crewmembers for repairs that needed to be made, ignoring him as if what had just happened was no more consequential than anything that happened any other day. As the uneven remnants of her hair began to fall into her face, all she could think about was the fact that all of the work that had gone into making that hair presentable over the course of her entire life had gone to waste.

---

"B'Elanna!" Mariah Henley called out in surprise when she caught sight of the engineer making her way back to her berth. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

Torres ran her hand through her now-short hair, felling the differences in length between the longer parts in the front and the nearly shaved pieces at her neck. "Problem in engineering," she said brusquely, not wanting to get into it with anyone, especially not Henley. It wasn't that she usually had a problem with the pilot, but she wasn't her favorite person on board.

"Well, it looks awful," Henley declared. She pursed her lips slightly in concentration. "Come on," she said after a moment, gesturing toward the berth she shared with Jeni Jackson. "I think we can take care of this."

Figuring that what Henley had in mind couldn't be any worse than trying to fix it herself with a microlaser from her toolkit, she shrugged slightly and followed.

Jackson was already on her bunk when the pair entered the small room. She did a double take when she saw Torres, her eyes widening in shock. "Oh my God," she said in awe. "Your hair!"

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know," she snapped. "I was there when it happened."

"Well, you're in luck," Jackson said, rising from her bunk and gesturing for Torres to sit in her place. "Mariah is excellent with hair. She does everybody's on the ship, even Doyle's." She grinned. "As if it's hard to trim the hair of a man that bald."

"Well, he still has more hair than Chell," Henley commented as she retrieved her grooming kit from her storage compartment. She fumbled through the bag before removing her hairbrush and what appeared to be two different laser hair trimmers. "Do you have any idea how you want this to look?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "I've never had it this short," she said. "And I never planned on it, either."

"Hmm," Henley murmured distractedly as she studied what she had to work with. A moment later, she began brushing the longer pieces back, and Torres heard the slight humming of the trimmer.

"So what happened?" Jackson asked as she watched her roommate work.

Torres glared slightly at the memory. "Chakotay," she said bitterly. "I was in the middle of repairing a fused relay when he grabbed it and said it would make an excellent leash for a Cardie to grab a hold of."

Jackson's eyes widened slightly. "And then he cut it off?" she said in disbelief.

"No, I did that," Torres explained. "Right before I punched him in the gut and told him that if he ever tried anything like that again, it would be his neck I would go after next."

Henley chuckled slightly from her position behind the engineer. "Good for you," she said. She sighed slightly. "And sorry about Chakotay, even though he's right, in this particular case. That's why all of us women have such short hair—except Seska, but Seska's always a different case, and she _always_ has it in a bun, anyway. He's just usually much more reasonable about saying it, though. He's been a little off since Addison was captured."

If it weren't for the fact that her hair was being held in place, Torres would have jumped at the name, especially when Jackson gave a small sigh and added, "Ah, yes. Everything's been a little off since Ryan's arrest. He could be a little childish at times, but he was a good pilot, and damned good in bed."

"Wait a second," Torres interrupted. "Ryan Addison? Tall, built, red hair, brown eyes, _Starfleet_ Ryan Addison?" she asked incredulously.

"You know him?" Henley asked, her hands temporarily stilled in surprise.

"Knew," Torres corrected. "I nearly punched him when he hit on me when I was a plebe. Sorry," she said to Jackson, who just waved it off dismissively. "I didn't know he left Starfleet. The last I had heard of him, he was on the _Exeter_."

"He resigned his commission after his parents were killed on Juhraya," Jackson explained. "Which was the same time Chakotay left the fleet. They pretty much set out together for the Maquis. He was caught by Starfleet after he lifted some medical supplies from one of their stations while Chakotay was out getting you."

"Wow," Torres said quietly before chuckling. "He was practically a Starfleet recruiting ad—went to Prep, was the navigator of Nova Squadron, graduated with Interstellar Honors. I figured he'd make captain before I was a lieutenant."

"I didn't know you went to Starfleet Academy," Jackson commented.

"Yeah. Made it through the first two years before we mutually decided that it wasn't the best place for me. The Klingon Defense Force was a better fit—they don't frown at you for starting fights with your classmates."

"So you knew Addison pretty well?" Henley asked, fluffing Torres' hair lightly to see how it fell before making corrections.

"Not really," Torres replied with a slight frown. "Not Addison. His roommate…" She trailed off slightly, not wanting to finish that thought. "I knew his roommate better," she finally said.

Henley and Jackson shared a look before Henley got back to her task with the hair. "Uh-huh," was all she said.


	16. Chapter 16

"Torres!" Seska's angry shout was enough to make B'Elanna's head snap up in surprise. Without waiting for a response, the Bajoran continued, "Get your ass out of engineering! Don't make me make that an order!"

Torres rolled her eyes as she got back to work on the isolinear circuits. "You don't outrank me, Seska," she said calmly.

"No, but Chakotay does," the other woman replied. "And Chakotay does what I tell him to do."

That wasn't exactly true, or even anywhere close to true, but B'Elanna had better things to do than antagonize her roommate. "I'm in the middle of something, Seska," she informed her.

Seska snorted. "You're always in the middle of something. You don't sleep, you don't relax, you don't play poker. Come _on_. We've landed, in case you haven't notice, for the first time since you arrived. That's eight weeks that you've been doing nothing but making repairs and improvements on our systems, and I'm sick of it! I am getting you off this ship and getting you drunk if I have to drag you by the hair to do it!" Torres' eyebrows raised at that. Unless Chakotay told her, Seska didn't know what her lover had done to her roommate's hair.

"Seska, not now. I really am in the middle of something, and we have to be stationary for me to do it," she explained, still outwardly calm.

"And we're going to be here for another week. There's still time."

"Hey, Seska, B'Elanna, you coming?" Peggy Jor asked from the entry to engineering. "We're about to leave. Kurt says this bar we're going to is amazingly sketchy, and apparently there are a few other cells here tonight, too. It should be interesting." She glanced around the nearly deserted engine room. "Hell of a lot more interesting than this."

"You know you want to, Torres," Seska said, a sly grin on her face, her eyes flashing. "Alcohol, men, no thoughts of warp core modifications or Cardassian attacks, men."

B'Elanna sighed and placed her hypospanner in her toolkit in defeat. "Fine," she said, feeling the beginnings of a smile twitch on her lips. _Men_. It had been far too long; despite her promise to herself to go after the first non-Klingon guy she saw, she had kept her distance from the men on the ship.

"Atta girl," Seska said with a chuckle. "Let's get out of here."

"Like this?" Torres asked with a frown, gesturing toward her outfit.

Seska raised her eyebrows. "Believe me, Torres, in a Maquis bar, you're not going to want to show up in a dress with your hair in ringlets. This is a much better look for you."

The three women met up with Mariah Henley and Jennifer Jackson just outside the ship, and only had to wait a few moments for a small group of the men to join them. Torres couldn't help but notice that Seska was going out without Chakotay. She didn't quite understand what their relationship was, or even if it could be described as a relationship. Maybe it was just convenience.

"This is going to be great!" Jackson gushed. "I'm going to pick up a guy tonight and get some. I feel like it's been ages. I need to get laid." Torres bit back a laugh when she saw Hogan's eyes widen at her words.

Henley rolled her eyes. "It's been, what, ten weeks for you? Some of us are able to show much more restraint. Besides, you know as well as I do that the guys at these joints aren't exactly the pick of the quadrant."

"I think we could all use some attention in that department," Bendera joked. "Especially since Chakotay started putting restrictions on 'complications' on the ship." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Henley snorted. "Right, that's a rule anyone follows." She looked pointedly at her roommate, but avoided Seska's glare. She grinned suddenly. "But I can certainly think of one half-Klingon engineer who would make all of our lives easier if she would just, umm, _relax_."

Torres felt her face flush brightly as Jackson rolled her eyes at Henley. "Play nice, Mariah. Anyway, don't Klingons mate for life?" Everyone seemed to be looking at Torres, expectantly.

Although she was never one to discuss her personal life, she swallowed her discomfort. "Well, consider that one of my human traits," she said. "I'd hate to think that three minutes in the gymnasium storage room of my secondary school constitutes a life-long commitment." The women hooted in laughter, but the men all looked slightly uncomfortable. After all, they had been teenaged boys once, too.

Just as promised, the bar was seedy, to say the best. There were representatives of a dozen species sitting, leaning against the bar, loitering, dancing, and leering, and it looked like nobody was up to any good. It was definitely among the worst bars Torres had been in.

She had been doing shots of tequila at the bar with Kurt Bendera, and drinking him under the table, when he muttered something about seeing a man about a horse and staggered off. She snickered to herself as she contemplated another shot in his absence.

"Torres?" an unfamiliar voice asked behind her. "B'Elanna Torres?"

She twirled around, probably too quickly, but managed to stabilize herself before collapsing onto the dirty and most likely disease-ridden floor. "Yeah? What of it?" she asked, sounding angry to her own slightly drunk ears. He looked amused at her condition. He looked familiar. She frowned as she tried to figure out why.

"You're a long way away from Kessik," he said with a slight smirk, knowing that she was having a hard time figuring out how he knew her, or she him.

A slow smile appeared on her face. "Anay La Paz," she said. "Same could be said for you." They had been in the same class at Kessik Secondary School and were stars of their respective track and field teams, but that was where the similarities ended. He was easily the most popular in the class, winning the hearts of unfortunate underclass girls as easily as he won medals for his four hundred meter dash. She merely suffered through the hell that was high school.

He leaned against the bar and swirled the drink in his hand as he grinned down at her. "Almost didn't recognize you, without the hair."

She snorted. "Right. My hair was my most distinctive feature."

His grin widened at the comment, his dark eyes shining as he took a slow drink from his glass. "I heard you went to the Academy."

"Guess you didn't hear I left."

"Guess not." They studied each other for a moment; they had probably said ten times as many words to each other in the last two minutes than they had in all the minutes that came before. "So what are you up to these days?"

She raised her eyebrows before making a show of looking down at her outfit—tight red suede pants, leather boots that went up to her thighs, tight V-neck shirt, leather vest. "What does it look like I'm up to?"

He grinned. "Looks like you're up to the same thing I am." He was dressed in a rust-colored shirt, sturdy-looking workboots, and well-fitted brown leather pants. Very well-fitted brown leather pants.

The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile as a part of her mind told her that she was starting to flirt, and another told her that she was well aware of that fact. "You never struck me as the rebel, La Paz. Whatever happened to medical school?"

"Let's just say the books and I didn't agree," he said in a non-committal tone. He smirked slightly. "And I would have thought the Maquis would be too conformist for you."

She snorted. "Right, conformity is our motto."

He had to chuckle at that. "So, who are you here with?"

"Chakotay. You?"

"Hudson," he replied. Torres recognized the name; like Chakotay, he was a former Starfleet officer and ran a pretty well-organized cell. La Paz's eyes went to her recently shortened hair again. "Let me guess—Chakotay called your hair a Cardie leash and told you to get rid of it."

"Something like that." No need to scare him off by telling him the whole story.

He shrugged. "Hudson says the same thing to the women in his cell. Guess those former Fleeters know what they're talking about." He leaned forward. "It's a shame, though," he whispered in a low voice into her ear. "I used to wonder what it would be like to wrap my fingers in that hair of yours." She wondered if he was aware of the shiver that went down her spine as he straightened and grinned wickedly at her. "What're you drinking?" he asked, nodding toward her glass.

"Does it matter?" she countered.

"Oh, it always matters, Torres," he replied innocently. "You should only take what you want to take. There's no point in settling."

She studied him for a moment, processing his words and knowing he wasn't talking about alcohol at all. "Tequila," she said slowly. "And only the real Mexican stuff." She was sure he didn't miss that she wasn't talking about alcohol, either. She knew that he could only claim Mexican descent on his father's side, but all was all she could claim, either, so she figured it was close enough.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, almost challengingly as he gestured for two shots of tequila to the bartender. Without taking their eyes off each other, they both raised their glasses in a silent toast and downed them in one gulp. With deliberate care, he placed his empty shot glass on the bar before returning his gaze to her. "You want to get out of here?" Her expression was response enough.


	17. Chapter 17

The hissing sounds of phasers and Cardassian disruptors was distracting, but not nearly as much so as the bouncing of the single light source in the darkened room. "Damn it, Jor, can't you hold still for five seconds?" B'Elanna Torres hissed through gritted teeth.

"It's a little difficult with the Cardies trying to drive a hole through my head!" the tall engineer retorted.

Torres snorted as she concentrated on the relays that would allow her to release the access code. "It's not your head they're aiming for," she said. "It's mine. And the more you can hold that light still, the sooner we can _both_ of our heads away from them!" Her words were punctuated by another disruptor blast that was far too close for comfort. Jor let out a short scream involuntarily.

"Got it!" Torres declared triumphantly as the panel's lights came on. "Now all I have to do…" her voice trailed off as she started in on the work, forgetting about the firefight around her.

"Torres!" Chakotay's voice called out from around a corner. "How's it going in there?"

"I almost have it!" she shouted back. A few seconds later, she grinned triumphantly. "Done!" she exclaimed with a wide grin.

"Good!" Chakotay shouted back. "Now get your ass out here so we can get back to the ship!" Ordinarily, she would return that order with a snide comment of her own, but the sudden realization of being right in the middle of a fire fight hit her hard. She gritted her teeth as she pulled out her own phaser and grimly nodded for Jor to kill the light she had been holding and follow her lead. Even with the dim lights from the panels, Torres could barely see ten centimeters in front of her. She hoped the Cardassians were having just as much trouble seeing her.

"Chakotay to _Val Jean_," the Captain said once the two women reached his position. "Four to beam up!" Whoever was working the transporter controls didn't even bother to respond before they found themselves engulfed the blue hue of the transport.

Chakotay and Torres wasted no time getting to the bridge as Jor and Bendera ran to engineering. "Let's get out of here," Chakotay said grimly, occupying the seat Henley quickly vacated.

"Aye, Captain," Tuvok said, as calm and impassive as ever. Without even bothering to look at the engineer, he asked, "Were you successful in your mission, Lieutenant?"

She gritted her teeth at the Vulcan's question and form of address. Although the entire crew knew her history with the Klingon Defense Force, he was the only one who addressed her by her rank. She couldn't stand it, but knew that as a former Starfleet officer, he was only doing it out of respect, and that bit of knowledge was the only thing that kept her from telling him to stop. "Would I be here right now if I wasn't?" she snapped back at him. He merely raised an eyebrow at her response.

Once they were out of immediate danger, Torres allowed herself to begin to relax and leaned back into her chair. She had found herself occupying the engineering station on the bridge more and more often, mostly because the other engineers were just as intimidated by her orders over the comm as in person, but Chakotay had a tendency to ignore her unless they were face-to-face.

"The Dreadnought missile should be entering orbit in about three hours," Chakotay said, also beginning to relax after the near-suicidal mission.

"If not," Torres said grimly, "in about three hours, we'll have one less planet to defend." She shivered slightly at the thought of the thousands of people the Cardassian missile was programmed to kill, and prayed to whatever deity would listen that her calculations had been correct. "How did you find out about this, anyway?"

He glanced over at her, seeing the tension and fatigue that had come from almost a week of frantic work and hardly any sleep, and wished for her sake that it was over. "I got some intel from Cal Hudson," he said. "They would have gone after it themselves, but they were too far away from the control centers." He smiled grimly and shook his head slightly. "It's a good thing we happened to be where we were. If you hadn't been able to stop the detonation sequence…" he let his words trail off as they both thought about the consequences.

"We're not out of the woods yet," Torres said quietly. "I've never had to try to trick an intelligent Cardassian weapon before. I just hope I did everything right."

"I'm sure you did," the captain said with a reassuring, albeit fatigued, smile. "Anyway, Hudson and his crew is going to be meeting us there to see what we can do with this missile now. We're going to want to get started on it right away."

She nodded slowly, understanding what he wasn't saying—_she_ was going to be getting started on it right away. With a heavy sigh, she rose from the engineering station and gave him a half-smile. "I guess I should get some sleep, then." Even at their top speeds, it would be almost six hours before they arrived at the planet the Cardassians had tried to destroy on account for its well-deserved reputation as a Maquis stronghold. Six hours should make up for working non-stop for six days.

---

_*Access to that file is restricted.*_ Torres slammed the heel of her hand against the Dreadnought bulkhead in frustration at that cold Cardassian voice, breathing slowly through gritted teeth as she tried to calm herself down.

"Dammit," she muttered under her breath. As if that one curse was a breath of oxygen on the cooling embers of her temper, she felt all the stress and frustration flaring up again. "God _damn_ it! Stupid—" She stopped her tirade in surprise when she heard the familiar whine of transporters behind her. She spun quickly around to see a very unexpected figure, and felt her mouth open in surprise.

"Chakotay said you might need the services of a medic," Anay La Paz said calmly as he glanced around the interior of the missile, a medkit in hand. "Although now I'm wondering if he meant for the engineer or the ship." Her tools were spread out around the small space, interspersed among open bulkheads and exposed circuitry.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" she asked angrily, hoping the bite in her voice would cover her embarrassment at being caught off-guard.

He merely raised an eyebrow at her as he pulled out a medical tricorder and began scanning her before she pushed his arm away. "I told you," he explained calmly. "Chakotay sent me over. He's worried about you, says you've been working really hard on this thing."

She snorted. "Well, if _your_ captain hadn't dropped it on us, we wouldn't have that problem, now would we?"

"No, instead we'd have an asteroid belt where we used to have a damned good base," La Paz said quietly. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, submitting to the scan. As tired and frustrated as she was, she would take that over the certain destruction of an entire planet any day. She opened her eyes again to the sounds of a hypospray being loaded. "Tri-ox and caffeine," he explained, holding up the instrument. "Should help you stay awake and focused."

She nodded, tilting her head to expose her neck to the instrument. She sighed after he gave her the injection, waiting for it to take effect. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently.

She chuckled bitterly. "So now you're a counselor as well as a medic?" she asked sarcastically. "Or are you doing the whole 'I'm a sensitive and caring guy' routine that got half of the girls in our high school in your bed?"

He grinned at her barb, not bothering to deny it. "Didn't seem to work on you," he teased.

With a snort, she said, "That probably has something to do with the fact that you never bothered to talk to me."

"Oh, believe me, if I thought the sensitive and caring routine would have worked on the school's resident half-Klingon, I would have tried it."

Her eyes widened at his words before narrowing into a glare as she jumped up from seated position on the missile's deck. "_What_ did you just say?" she hissed.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look, Torres," he retorted. "And don't pretend that you were using me any less than I was using you. I'll freely admit that I got you in bed out of curiosity about those rumors about Klingon women, but we both know that you would have gone with any guy in the bar that night. Yes, I used you, and you used me. And you know what? We'll use each other again."

"You sound pretty damned sure of yourself," Torres replied, glaring daggers at him.

He shrugged. "I _am_ pretty sure of myself, because this war sucks, and every once in awhile, we all need to completely forget that it's going on, any way we can." He smirked slightly. "I certainly forgot what the hell I do for a living for a few hours there, and you didn't seem so dissatisfied, yourself." She felt herself flush, knowing he was right. "It's just sex, Torres. Damned good sex, but just sex."

She studied him for a moment before chuckling slightly, bending down to pick up a tool to begin her work again. "If somebody had told me back in high school that we'd be having this conversation…"

This time, he didn't grin at her words. She glanced over at him quizzically when he didn't respond, but he looked away. "We used each other in more ways than just one," he finally said. She frowned at his words, and he finally met her eye. "We were both able to convince ourselves that we were with someone who knows us and that we were taking advantage of that familiarity, but really, we were just trying to convince ourselves that we were still in high school and that the last five years hadn't happened at all."

She didn't know what to say for a moment, and just looked at him, confused. "Why did you leave medical school?" she asked softly.

He didn't flinch from her words, didn't look away, but held her gaze with a challenging one of her own. "Why did you leave Starfleet?" he countered. When she didn't answer, he smirked slightly. "See? Sometimes it's better if we tell ourselves that none of it happened. To each other, we can just continue to be the top athletes and students from Kessik Secondary School class of 2366. If we tell each other too much, it'll ruin the illusion, and the universe and all the hell in it will become just a little bit more real." He slowly rose and placed his instruments back in his medkit. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he turned back to her. "I don't know how long you're planning on working on this, or how long your cell is sticking around the base, but I'll be here for another week or so. If you feel like using me again, you know where to find me." He held her gaze for a moment before tapping his communicator. "La Paz to _Gretchen_. One to beam up."

Torres watched his form dissolve in the glittery lights of the transporter and smiled slightly. Using him again didn't sound like such a bad idea. She sighed as she turned back to her work. _That is,_ she told herself, _if I ever finish with this thing_.


	18. Chapter 18

Chakotay wasted no time after he stepped out of the _Anaraha_. Angrily, he stalked toward the _Val Jean_ and the Maquis surrounding her. "Where's Torres?" he asked brusquely when he didn't see the half-Klingon engineer.

Jeni Jackson glanced up and raised her eyebrows at his angry tone before jerking her thumb toward the lake a few hundred meters away. "She said she was going to go on a run, and headed that way. That was about three hours ago."

"Three hours?" he asked in disbelief. He blew a breath of air out through his teeth. "Was she _planning_ on being gone that long?"

The blond shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know, but she has her communicator with her. I'm sure she would have called if she's in trouble."

"Not if she's unconscious," he pointed out. He sighed and activated his communicator. "Chakotay to Torres."

"What?" The voice didn't come from the device around his wrist, but from behind him. He spun quickly to see the slight half-Klingon approach, breathing a bit harder than usual and dripping in sweat. Although she had never been a distance runner, she had fallen into a rhythm in her run, feeling the once-familiar rush of endorphins that reminded her why she used to enjoy it so much, and she found herself unwilling to stop. She hadn't even realized how far she had gone or how long she had been running until she found herself back to where she started after completely circumnavigating the lake.

Still trying to catch her breath, she pulled off the headband she had taken from Mariah Henley's berth that morning to keep her short hair out of her face, and grimaced at the sweat stains. "I'll refresh this before getting it back to you," she informed the pilot. Turning back to her captain, she asked, "You wanted to see me?"

Remembering why he was so angry in the first place, he pressed his lips tightly together. "We need to talk," he said tersely. She shrugged in response and followed him away from the group.

"I just received an interesting message from Michael Eddington," he said once they were out of earshot of the other Maquis, sitting and indicating for her to follow. "Apparently, there's a Dreadnought missile heading toward Cardassian space."

She felt a weight in the pit of her stomach. "Another one?" she managed.

He raised his eyebrows at her as he shook his head. "Apparently, this one warned him that it was Maquis missile headed toward a Cardassian weapons factory. Eddington was kind enough to get me a recording of that message." He pulled out his tricorder and activated it. A few seconds later, Torres heard her own voice recite the warning message she had programmed into the converted Dreadnought missile.

"When he first told me about this," Chakotay continued, "I told him he was mistaken. After all, we've only encountered one Dreadnought, and I told him that I ordered my engineer to dismantle it and use it for parts."

"I can explain—" Torres began, but Chakotay wasn't finished. He held up a hand to stop her.

"I trusted you, Torres," he said softly. "I let you work on that alone, because I believed that you would do what I asked you to do." His dark eyes bored into hers. "You disappointed me, B'Elanna."

She sighed guiltily. "The parts aren't compatible with the _Val Jean_," she finally said. "It was useless to us."

"Then you should have given them to Hudson," he replied.

She shook her head. "They weren't compatible with the _Gretchen_, either. There probably aren't many Maquis ships they _are_ compatible with. I saw an opportunity, and I took it."

"When I specifically told you not to," he pointed out. When she had come up with the idea of reprogramming the Dreadnought to use the Cardassian weapon against them, he had told her that he wasn't going to sink to their level, that unlike their enemies, he wasn't going to be the one to target civilians and children.

"I researched this, Chakotay!" she exclaimed. "I chose a target with a minimum of casualties but a large impact on the war. Most of their weapons are made there! I didn't pick some base with families, like they did." She stood and began pacing. "If we hadn't stopped them, there would be _thousands_ dead. Ayala's wife and sons, Jor's sister, and thousands of other Maquis and their families. Compared to that, this was downright charitable!"

"You should have said all of this before you went ahead and did it." His voice was still soft, still disappointed, and it killed her to hear him like that.

"It wouldn't have made a difference," she said quietly. "You still would have said no."

He nodded. "You're right, I probably would have." He sighed and ran his hand along his hair. "We made you a part of this family, B'Elanna. We brought you in, we included you, we watched your back, and you let us down." She sighed heavily and hung her head, ashamed at knowing that she was the source of the pain in his voice. It would have been easier if he could just yell at her like everyone else did.

He wasn't done. "I was worried about you," he continued. "You were consumed by your task. You stayed in that missile the entire week we were at the base. You ate in there, you slept in there—if you slept at all. If it weren't for the fact I kept sending Hudson's medic to check up on you, you wouldn't have seen anybody that entire time." She barely resisted the urge to smirk—if only he knew what La Paz was doing when he was "checking up" on her.

"Chakotay—"

He held up a hand to stop her. "No," he said firmly, standing and facing her, shaking his head. "No. It's over. What's done is done." He glanced over at the _Val Jean_ and the _Anaraha_, his crew surrounding the tactical fighter and small shuttle. "The warp was a little shaky on the _Anaraha_ on the way back," he said, gesturing with his head. "Mind checking it out?"

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Sure." What's done is done.

---

Later that night, B'Elanna leaned back on her elbows and quietly watched the people around her. At some point during the day, Suder had wandered off and apparently decided that it was his job to provide dinner, returning a few hours ago with some sort of wild game that Ayala claimed tasted like deer. Fortunately for the rest of the crew, Ayala and Bendera had taken over from there, fashioning some sort of fire pit to cook the meat while Henley and Gerron cooked up some vegetable they found and Seska whipped up some sort of mushroom soup for Chakotay. Now, all uncomfortably full from the first large meal they had had in ages, they lounged around the fire, all thoughts of fighting Cardassians and repairing ships forgotten.

Jeni Jackson and Mariah Henley were teasing Gerron while Ken Dalby watched, amused and ready to come to the younger man's defense, if necessary. Jor and Tabor were chuckling over a shared PADD, probably reading the latest tongue-in-cheek news publications put out by Maquis supporters in the DMZ. Ayala, Bendera, Hogan, Doyle, Carlson, and Yosa were sitting in a circle, playing a game of poker while drinking booze from the still Bendera and Hogan had installed and secured in one of the engineering storage rooms. Seska and Chakotay were sitting quietly, talking between themselves. Tuvok, as always, was alone, quietly typing something on his PADD. Lon Suder was also sitting by himself, staring into nothing with that far-away look in his eyes.

They were an interesting bunch, Chakotay's Maquis cell, and they had accepted her immediately, without question. As far back as she could remember, they were the first to do that. To them, she was just another misfit among a group of misfits, no better or worse than the rest of them. They took her mood swings and temper tantrum in stride, and never seemed terribly bothered by them. Despite their initial rocky beginning, even Seska had warmed to her, becoming one of the first close female friends Torres had ever had. Perhaps sensing that she had forgiven him for making her cut her hair, Chakotay had taken to joking with the half-Klingon, often finishing her elaborate but idle threats of dismemberment before she could, and usually in a much more humorous manner. Even Tuvok respected her for her engineering skills, although he had pulled her aside more than once for discussions about her "unorthodox leadership techniques".

Chakotay was right; they were a family. A highly dysfunctional, incredibly violent family, but a family nonetheless, and Torres felt closer to that Maquis family than she had to any biological family since her father left when she was five. Sitting there, watching them, she wondered if they would still have this when the fighting was over and the Cardassians were gone. Probably not; theirs was a bond that came from working together for a common goal, from facing death head-on together, for protecting each other when nobody else could. When it was over, they would go their separate ways, live their own lives. Ayala would go back to his wife and sons, Jor would go into business with her sisters, Chakotay would move easily into life as a colonist somewhere, probably with Seska at his side. If they happened to meet at some bar somewhere along the way, they'd probably sit together and joke about "the good old days" over a beer, but then bid their farewells and go back to whatever they were doing.

She didn't want to lose this family.

Quietly enough to escape notice, B'Elanna slipped away from the group and headed toward the lake. Sitting on the sand, she tugged at her boots and slipped off her socks, allowing the cool water to lap over her feet. It was colder than anticipated, but she kept her feet firmly rooted.

"Care for some company?" Chakotay asked lightly as he took a seat beside her on the sand.

She looked up in surprise. "I didn't think anybody noticed me leave," she admitted.

He chuckled. "When a very vocal half-Klingon leaves the group, it tends to be noticed." She snorted at that, but didn't say anything. "You look deep in thought," Chakotay added.

She nodded. "I guess I am. I was just thinking about what you said earlier today, about being accepted." She turned him, her eyes slightly widened, an expression of honesty on her face. "I've never really had that before."

The corners of his eyes crinkled into a hidden smile. "How are your demons now, Lieutenant?" he joked.

She couldn't help but laugh at her own words being used against her. "I guess I didn't have as good of a relationship with them as I thought," she admitted. "How do you do it? How do you stay so calm and collected in the face of all the fighting, all the killing, all of… this?" she asked, gesturing widely with her arms.

He paused before responding. "In my tribe, we believe that everyone has their own spirit guide, an animal that comes to us in meditation to help us through this life and into the next. When I'm feeling conflicted, I seek the counsel of my spirit guide." He glanced up at the stars. "Lately, I have been talking to her more and more."

Torres flushed slightly, sure that she was the source of more than a little of that conflict. With hesitation in her voice, she asked, "Do you think… I mean…can you show me how to talk to my spirit guide?"

He looked surprised at the request. "You want to meet with your spirit guide?" he asked.

She nodded, not able to meet his eyes. "I guess I've been feeling more than a little conflict in my life lately, as well," she admitted. "I don't know what direction to go."

"Forward is usually best," he replied, a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Is it?" B'Elanna asked, finally able to meet his gaze unflinching. She didn't clarify the question.

He sighed. "A spirit guide is not a quick fix, B'Elanna," he said gently. "You have to be willing to meet your conflicts face-to-face. You might not like what your spirit guide has to say."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "And that's supposed to be different than any other advice I've ever received?" she asked dryly. "If I could become a tenth as centered as you are, my life would become a whole lot more simple."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, if this is what you want, I'll be more than happy to help you."

"It is what I want," she said without hesitation.

"When do you want to do it?"

She glanced around. Nobody else had moved from the circle around the campfire, still laughing and joking with each other, enjoying each other's company and the fact that, for at least another night, they wouldn't have to fight to just to survive. Looking back at him, she asked, "What about now?"


	19. Chapter 19

_She didn't know where she was; she didn't even know what planet she was on. Was it Kessik IV? Qo'noS? Earth? Somewhere she had been with the Maquis? Somewhere she had never been? Was it even real? Forcing those questions out of her mind, she focused on what she did know—the sun was setting, one single, yellow sun, low on the horizon, casting long shadows from the few trees over the golden brush of the prairie. The sky, where it wasn't mottled with pinks and purples and oranges, was blue, without a cloud in the sky. It was warm, almost hot, without even the slightest breeze._

_It was perfect._

_No. Not perfect. It was quiet, too quiet. From a very early age, B'Elanna Torres had learned to distrust the quiet. She hated to be cliché, but whenever it was quiet, that sort of absolutely still, dead silence, she always thought of the calm before the storm. It was the kind of quiet that came when her parents were arguing late at night, after one had said something to the other that was particularly cruel, seconds before the real yelling and fighting began. The stillness of some kid on the playground as he weighed his options to stay and fight or flee after she growled in displeasure. The tension between the starter calling for the racers to set and to go. The few seconds between her matter-of-factly stating the correct answer to an engineering question in class and the instructor interpreting her meaning, trying to decide if she was right, if that young, quick-tempered, slight half-Klingon _could_ be right. The momentarily disbelief and panic after a particularly effective shot from Cardassian phasers takes out the _Val Jean_'s warp drive._

_No, she didn't like quiet. She preferred the hum of machines, the sounds of people talking calmly, the bustle of activity in Engineering. Even when she wanted to be alone, she needed to hear something to keep herself sane, something other than the irrationally panicked thoughts running through her head._

_She growled slightly, partly to hear something, partly to express her displeasure at the scenario. Chakotay had told her that her spirit guide would appear to her when it was ready, or she was ready—she couldn't remember which. He said she would know it when she saw it. If it didn't appear soon, she would kill him. Chakotay, not her spirit guide. She didn't know if she could kill a spirit guide. She wondered what would happen if she did._

_The sound of rustling grass behind her caught her by surprise, and she spun toward the sound, dropping instinctively into a defensive position. For a second, it was still again, and then she saw it. It was a large cat of some sort, a kind of Terran feline. With a frown, she tried to identify it. Tigers had stripes, leopards had spots, panthers were black—or pink. She smiled in remembrance as she recalled being forced to sit and watch something called a "cartoon". All she remembered about it was the stupid pink cat. That lasted for about three minutes before she left the room, exasperated. _

_This cat was a golden yellow, the same color as the dried grasses of the prairie they were standing in. A lion? No, lions had long manes. She had seen lions once, at the San Francisco Zoo. She had been having a bad few days, frustrated with the general education courses she had been forced to take the summer between her first and second years at the Academy, and Tom had said she needed a break. He wouldn't tell her where they were going, which just frustrated her further—she hated surprises. When they arrived at the zoo, she was ready to take his head off. She had homework to do, experiments to run in the lab, and he had taken her to some children's play-site? He told her it was so much more than that, and she begrudgedly decided to go along with it, seeing the look on his face, the anticipation mixed with the hurt of her putting down his great idea of fun. Before she knew it, she found herself beginning to relax, laughing at Tom's child-like excitement at the various exhibits. She would never admit it to him, but he was right—it was the kind of break she needed._

_They had arrived at the lion's exhibit a few hours after their arrival at the zoo, and she was beginning to get tired of walking around and staring at the various animals—there was only so much biology she could take before she found herself longing for her engines again. They stood there and watched the lions lounge around in the sun for a few minutes before she told him it was time to move on. Before they could move away, though, dinner was served to the animals. In seconds, the previously lazy animals had jumped up, roaring at each other as they fought over the meat. She had jumped in surprise from the sudden change, and Tom had gently placed his hands over her arms, holding her in place. With a chuckle, he leaned down and murmured into her ear, "Now, _that_ reaction seems familiar." She gave him a glare in response. _

_They continued to watch the interactions between the large cats and the food as well as with each other. After a few minutes, other cats appeared, the same golden color as the others, but without the long manes. She had looked at Tom, confused, and he explained that those were the females, the lionesses. They had stealthily approached the group of male cats surrounding the food, and then growled loudly. In response, the larger male cats quickly moved away, leaving the food for the females. Tom had laughed even louder and amended his previous statement, saying, "No, _that's_ what's familiar!"_

_With a start, she realized that she had been staring at the large cat, which she now identified as a lioness, for several moments without moving. She cleared her throat slightly, asking, "Are you my spirit guide?"_

_The cat tilted her head slightly at the question, a very human gesture of confusion. "Do you want me to be your spirit guide?" she asked in response._

_B'Elanna felt her body tense, felt the anger beginning to boil deep inside her as she glared. "Don't talk in riddles," she snapped. "If you have something to say to me, just say it. I don't want to play your games."_

_"What games do you want to play?"_

_She growled deep in her throat, just as those lionesses at the zoo had done years ago. "Are you here to help me or not?" _

_The lioness bowed her head slightly in apology, but B'Elanna couldn't help but notice the amusement in her expression. "What do you need help with?" she asked._

_"Don't you know that already?"_

_"I do," the cat confirmed. "I just want to know if _you_ know what questions you need answering."_

_B'Elanna stared at the animal for a moment, assessing it. She didn't know what to expect in a conversation with her spirit guide, but she didn't even know what to make of this. "Where should I be?" she finally asked._

_The lioness tilted her head to the side again. "You should be where you belong," she said, as if that was blatantly obvious._

_B'Elanna raised her hands in exasperation. "What does that mean? I should go back to Nu'Daq? Stay with the Maquis? If I knew where it was that I belong, I wouldn't have to ask!"_

_The cat looked amused again. "But that isn't the question you want answered, is it?" she asked._

_That stopped B'Elanna. She stared at the cat for a moment, waiting for an explanation, which the feline wasn't providing. "Yes, it is," she said slowly. "Ever since that conversation with Chakotay this morning…"_

_The lioness shook her head. "No," she stated flatly. "You already know where you belong. You knew it as soon as you saw me. The question you want answered is a deeper one than that, getting at your very soul. You want to know why you never allow yourself to feel a sense of belonging. You want to know why it is that every time you get close, you run away. When your father made an effort to get to know you again, you told him to leave. When things were finally falling into place at the Academy, you left for Qo'noS. When you were accepted by the Maquis, you went against Chakotay's wishes and did something he explicitly forbade." She tilted her head again at B'Elanna as if studying the woman she obviously knew inside and out. "You want to know why you can't allow yourself to belong."_

_B'Elanna flushed, knowing that what the cat was saying was true. She shook her head slightly, as if to clear away the thoughts. "What do you mean, I already know where I belong?" she demanded. "The only thing I was thinking about when I saw you was that stupid trip to the zoo!" The lioness looked at her, a slightly smug expression on her face, but didn't say anything. It took a moment, but B'Elanna was able to figure out what the animal was saying. She laughed, sounding almost maniacal to her own ears. "Tom Paris? You're joking, right? I haven't seen him in over three years, and the last time he wrote, he made it pretty clear how he felt about me!"_

_If cats had eyebrows, this one was raising hers. "But what about how you feel about him?" she asked enigmatically._

_B'Elanna narrowed her eyes into a glare. "What do you know?" she snapped. "You're only a cat!"_

_She swore she heard the animal chuckle as she turned and headed away, leaping quickly through the tall grass. She glanced down and saw a stick, a fairly straight stick, lying at her feet, and bent down to pick it up. Straightening, she launched it at the retreating figure of the lioness. She had been a decathlete and a very good one, and although her strengths were in the running events, she was pretty good with a javelin. She didn't have much practice aiming at moving targets, though, and the cat easily evaded the flying stick. B'Elanna could still hear its laugh as it ran off into the sunset._

_---_

Chakotay watched his engineer with some concern as she meditated. She seemed tense throughout the entire encounter, which, while unusual, wasn't unheard of. When he heard her growl loudly and leap up into a standing position, though, he became alarmed.

Her eyes snapped open, and she tensed again in the sudden change in environment. Once her eyes focused on the sights of Chakotay's office, she began to calm slightly, turning and looking at her captain.

"I don't think this meditation thing's for me," she finally said brusquely as she turned to leave the room.

"Oh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She turned back and stared at him for a moment. "I didn't like what it had to say."


	20. Chapter 20

Anay La Paz was already analyzing his surroundings before he opened his eyes. He heard the sounds of drunken revelers in the distance; that combined with the too-soft mattress he was lying on told him that he wasn't on the _Gretchen_. The lumpy mattress and the smells of sour alcohol, sex, and sweat told him he was in a rented room, probably over a bar, and there should be a woman with him. The fact that he was on Solosos III, the same base where the _Val Jean_ was currently undergoing repairs, told him that woman should be a fiery half-Klingon engineer. The cold sheets he was tangled in told him that she wasn't there.

"Torres, come back to bed," he moaned, finally opening his eyes to see that engineer standing by the window, already dressed in fatigues, save for the leather boots that had been pulled off somewhere between the door and the bed.

"What's the point?" she asked, not turning toward him. "The _Val Jean_ is leaving in an hour."

He groaned. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost 0230," she replied, finally turning toward him. "You should sleep."

"What is Chakotay thinking, scheduling your departure at 0330? Doesn't he know how drunk your crew gets every time you're docked?"

She chuckled. "He's probably thinking that the medic from the _Gretchen_ decided to send over a case of anti-intoxicants."

He laughed in response. "I did a few missions on the _Val Jean_ before I hooked up with Hudson's cell," he explained. "I know how that crew gets with the booze. I figured we'd have enough to share." He lapsed into silence for a moment, remembering. "Does Bendera still have that still in engineering?"

She made a face. "Yes. And I swear half of my engineers sample from it while on duty."

"Nothing quite like quality control." She snorted in response. "So," he said after a moment of silence between them. "What's so urgent that Chakotay feels the need to leave at such an ungodly hour?"

She shrugged. "It's not that unusual for ships to leave that early in the morning. You've taken off at pretty ridiculous hours before."

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "I was just curious."

She sighed. "He found out about something Gul Evek was up to, decided to go after him and hopefully put a stop to it. I swear, when it comes that particular Cardie, it's personal with Chakotay."

"It's Gul Vetar for Hudson," La Paz said lightly. "They each have their favorite arch-nemeses, I guess. He's taking the _Val Jean_ on a personal mission?"

Torres shrugged. "I don't know if it's personal, necessarily, but the _Anaraha_ isn't in any shape to fly, anyway. And I think this is a bigger deal than that. We're taking a full crew, forty-five."

He gave a low whistle. "Forty-five people on the _Val Jean_? It must be a big deal. That ship's pretty damned uncomfortable with half of that."

She snorted. "I've seen the _Gretchen_. At least we only have two per berth, instead of ten."

"True." He paused for a second before asking lightly, "You taking a medic? I know how a certain half-Klingon engineer gets when she's upset."

She rolled her eyes. "You volunteering?" she asked sarcastically. He opened his mouth to give an equally sarcastic reply, but she spoke first. "And don't even think that would be any opportunity to get said half-Klingon engineer to warm your bed. Chakotay doesn't like 'complications' on his ship."

La Paz snorted. "Right, like he's not all 'complicated' with that Bajoran bitch of his." He shrugged. "I was never a fan of Seska." Feeling the need to lighten the mood after that dark comment, he added, "Well, I guess I'll just have to wait the standard two months before I get the pleasure of your company again."

"Guess you'll have to rely on the company of one of your many other woman you have spread around the DMZ."

With a half-grin, he asked, "Jealous?"

She snorted. "No. No offense, La Paz, but you're only here out of convenience."

"I know."

Torres sighed and turned back to the window. "Actually, you're going to have to use your other women longer than that. This is my last mission. I already told Chakotay that as soon as I repair the damage the _Val Jean_ is bound to receive fighting Evek, I'm going home."

"Back to Kessik?"

She gave another sarcastic snort. "I haven't set foot on that rock since I boarded the transport for Starfleet Academy two days after graduating from secondary school. No, I moved to the Klingon Empire after I left Earth. I have a job there, at a propulsion research facility."

"So that's why the _Val Jean_ always has the best warp drive of any of the cells," La Paz commented. "Why now?"

She shrugged. "This was never meant to be a permanent arrangement. I told Chakotay from the beginning that I had every intention of going back to my old job. He's not thrilled, but he understands." Turning back to him, she tilted her head slightly to the side, questioning. "What about you? What are you going to do when it's over?"

Now it was his turn to shrug and look away, his light mood suddenly dissipated. "I always assumed that the Maquis would be the end for me, that I'd either end up dead or in jail somewhere. Kinda hard to make plans further than that when that's all you see from day to day."

She studied him for a moment. "Why did you leave medical school?" she asked softly.

She fully expected him to deflect the comment, like he did every time, but he surprised her. Maybe it was knowing that this would be the last time they saw each other that changed his mind. "I graduated _summa cum laude_ with a degree in biochemistry from Sato University on Axanar after three years. There were only a few humans at the University, so we stuck together. One of my friends in my program got married really young, to a nurse originally from Ronara Prime. After we started our first year at Repap College of Medicine on Amaj, she went to Soltok IV on a humanitarian mission. He didn't want her to go, but she was so excited about providing medical care to another DMZ colony that he eventually gave in. She was raped and murdered during the Cardassian raids on the planet. She was four months pregnant with their first kid." When La Paz looked up at the engineer, his eyes were haunted. "I saw an amazing brilliant, funny, good-natured man turn into an empty shell almost instantaneously. He was so consumed with getting his revenge that it was all he could focus on—not his studies, not his friends, not his life, just getting out there and killing as many Cardies as possible. I tried to watch out for him, but there was only so much I could do. When he boarded a ship headed for the DMZ, I went with him, trying to keep him from doing anything stupid." He snorted. "Some good that did. He saw a group of Cardassian teenagers on one of the colonies and just lost it. I still don't know where he got that phaser, but I do know it wasn't set on stun. I was standing right next to him when it happened, and the next thing I know, my face is all over the 'most wanted' lists." He shrugged. "Instant fugitive. It started with the Maquis offering me protection, in return for using my limited medical knowledge to play medic. Before I knew it, I was a full-fledged member." His grin lacked any mirth. "Even if I wanted to leave, I would have nowhere to go—like I said, it's either death or prison. Ironic, isn't it? Mr. Golden Boy from Kessik IV becomes an intergalactic fugitive, rebel, terrorist, murderer." His tone lacked any bitterness, removed by the matter-of-fact acceptance of his situation. Now it was his turn to ask the questions. "Why did you leave the Academy?"

She shrugged, not looking away. "It was nothing, really. If you thought I was too much of a non-conformist for the Maquis, imagine how I did in a Starfleet uniform. In the end, they didn't want me there and I didn't want to be there, so leaving seemed like the best solution for everyone."

His eyes didn't move from hers, as unwilling to drop her gaze as she was his. It was almost like a telepathic communication; she could feel her face flush at her lie—to herself as much as to him—about why she left. Without knowing why, she continued speaking. "There was a guy," she told him. "He was a first classman when I was a plebe, one of the few people who actually made an effort to get to know me and wouldn't let me use my half-Klingon background as an excuse for anything. He was Starfleet born and bred, and yet acted like a big kid most of the time—pilot, history buff, flirt, class clown. We couldn't have been less alike, and yet, I think he was the only person who has ever understood me." She finally looked away, her gaze unfixed out the window. "Against my better judgment, I fell in love with him, and I don't know why the hell I let myself do that. I was only eighteen, and…" She trailed off, not knowing how to explain. "You remember Ryan Addison?"

"Chakotay's number two before he got caught?"

"Yeah." She tried to form her thoughts into words. "He was Tom's roommate at the Academy, and he told me that Tom would always be waiting, as soon as I was ready. I didn't really know what to make of that and I tried to ignore it, but those thoughts and those feelings were always there. I let those feelings get in the way of doing my duties, and I almost got kicked out of the Academy because of it. I knew that if I stayed it would just happen again, and I couldn't let that happen."

He didn't try to argue with her, didn't tell her that she had been a coward to leave when she did. Instead, he asked, "Why go back to the Klingon Empire? What's there for you, other than a job? You have a job here, one where you make a difference—and don't try to deny it. I know the _Val Jean_ is in much better shape than it was, and I saw first hand what you were capable of with that Dreadnought missile."

She looked down at her hands with a sigh, then a shrug. "That was my life. I interrupted it this long for this, it's time to go back. And there's somewhere there…a man who wants to marry me."

"And you don't agree." It wasn't a question.

She shrugged again. "Maybe I just need some time to get used to the idea."

"No." His voice was firm, and she turned toward him in surprise at it. He was shaking his head vehemently. "Don't settle, Torres. Don't you ever settle for something you don't want." She didn't know what the story was behind that insistence, and figured it was something she didn't want to know. "Damn, B'Elanna, you deserve to be happy about _something_. Stop punishing yourself already. If going back to your research laboratory is going to make you happy, then do it, but don't do it for anybody else's sake."

His words stung, but she wasn't going to let it show. She stood quickly, heading for her discarded boots. "It's time for me to get back to my ship," she said stiffly. Softening slightly, she added, "It's the right thing for me to do, Anay."

He was shaking his head as he took the few steps toward her. "Stop worrying about what other people think is right, and do what_ you_ think is right." He squeezed her shoulders lightly and gave her a tired smile. "I'll either see you in a few months or I won't, but either way, take care of yourself, Torres."

She took a moment to just look at him, study him. "You too, La Paz," she finally said. She managed a weak grin of her own before she turned and left him standing alone in the small and dirty room.


	21. Chapter 21

The force of the weapons fire knocked her to the floor, and with that, Lt. B'Elanna Torres of the Klingon Defense Force had had enough, and let out a loud curse to make sure everybody knew it. She finished it with, "Damn it, Chakotay! Abusing my engines is one thing, but I'd really appreciate it if your maneuvers didn't result in my broken neck!"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the Maquis captain couldn't help but chuckle as his engineer dragged herself back into her chair from where she landed on the deck after the last volley from Gul Evek's weapons. "I'll try to keep that in mind, Torres," he said, still chuckling. "Speaking of which, how are the engines?"

She punched a few commands in her console and nodded slightly. "Still holding, thank Kahless. What the hell were you thinking, deciding to take on Evek on our own? There were three other cells at Solosos, and any of them would have been more than happy to join us."

"It's harder to hide four ships than one," he replied grimly as he entered in another sequence of evasive maneuvers. "Stealth was our option for this one."

"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think they know we're here." She let out a short yelp when another blast from the larger Cardassian ship sent her elbow into her console. "Damn it!"

"You sure you want to leave all this fun behind?" Chakotay asked as he successfully avoided a photon torpedo.

She snorted. "That depends. Can you get us to the Badlands in one piece?" She interrupted her own statement by barking orders to engineering via the comm. "Because I doubt the Defense Force will take me back if I'm in a million pieces following Cardassian annihilation." Another blast shook the ship. "Damn it!"

He couldn't help but laugh at her limited vocabulary lately. "Damage report," he managed.

She shook her head. "A fuel line has ruptured. I'm attempting to compensate." Chakotay knew that her attempts to compensate would probably be more creative and successful than anything anyone else on the ship could manage. They would suffer by returning her to the Klingon Empire.

Another volley hit the ship. "Damn it!" she swore again. He was about suggest that she vary her curses, but the homicidal expression on her face told him that would probably be a bad idea. "We're barely maintaining impulse. We can't hold out like this."

"Be creative!" he snapped at her.

"There's only so much I can be creative with thirty-nine-year-old rebuilt engines!" she snapped back.

He sighed slightly. "Tuvok?"

"Shields are at fifty percent," the Vulcan responded.

"Suggestions?" That was directed at B'Elanna.

She thought about it for about half a second as her fingers flew over the controls. "Take weapons off-line and divert the power to shields and engines," she said. "I'm reading plasma storms a few thousand kilometers away."

"That would not be advisable, Lieutenant," Tuvok said, as impassive as ever.

"We're not making a dent in their shields, anyway!" she shot back. Turning to Chakotay, she said with a slight shrug, "You wanted creative."

He only had to think about it for a second. Tuvok was usually right when it came to tactical analyses, but nobody knew the power systems like Torres. Turning to Tuvok, he said, "Drain the phaser banks, and send the power to the impulse drive. Fire our last photon torpedoes, then shut off the launching controls. That should help the shields." To Torres, he said, "If you give me full impulse for another thirty seconds, I can get us into the Badlands."

She nodded, not needing to respond.

"Cardassian ship is not powering down. They're following us in," Tuvok declared.

"Gul Evek must feel daring today," Chakotay said with a slight chuckle as he sent the small ship around a plasma storm.

"They've taken a hit to their port side," Tuvok said. "They're sending a distress call."

"Good," Chakotay muttered. He had bigger things to worry about than Evek now. "Can you get us a course through these plasma storms, Tuvok?"

"Plasma density is high in this region," the Vulcan replied. "I can plot a course, but it will be indirect."

"Fine," Chakotay replied. "That'll give us some time to make some repairs." He heard Torres snort as he got of his seat, but he ignored her. A second later, the lights on the bridge flickered slightly. With a frown, he asked, "What was that?"

"Curious," Tuvok replied. "We appear to have passed through a coherent tetryon beam." Torres looked up in surprise; she hadn't heard of Cardassians using tetryons as weapons. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ayala standing in the middle of the bridge, appearing to be repairing an overhead light, and barely resisted to the impulse to snap at him. While Chakotay said this would give them time for repairs, overhead lights were hardly a priority. If he had nothing to do at the operations console, she was sure someone down in engineering would be able to find a repair that he could handle. Kahless knew, there was enough to do down there. "I'm reading a massive displacement wave," Tuvok added.

"Plasma storm?" Chakotay asked, still standing behind Tuvok's chair as he checked the Vulcan's monitors himself.

"It is not a plasma phenomenon," Tuvok replied. "At current speeds, it will intercept us in thirty seconds."

Turning to Torres, Chakotay asked, "Is there anything left in those impulse generators?"

"We'll find out," she replied grimly.

"The wave is accelerating," Tuvok reported. "It will intercept us in approximately eight seconds."

Her head bent down over her console in attempts to tease any amount of energy into the propulsion systems, Torres hardly heard Tuvok's countdown to impact, but she felt it as the force sent her sprawling out of her chair. _So much for returning to Nu'Daq_. That was her last coherent thought before losing consciousness.

**The End (until Part 4...)**


End file.
